Dog On It

Why is she calling me over? Why? She knows I don’t come on command. I’m not like that big slobbering lab next door who would go to a fence post if he thought it would pet him.

Besides, the sun is shining through the front window of the dining room, and I always lay there in the morning.

The humans have been around a lot lately. Not that I’m complaining exactly. I like having them around. It gets lonely being by yourself all day.

Man. She’s smiling. Or snarling. It’s hard to tell with humans. 

Psst. I’m not going over there. She’ll probably try and pick me up. 

Uh uh. No way. I don’t do heights. Or cuddles. Maybe that’s why they call me cat-dog sometimes. Not sure what that means, but it doesn’t sound like a compliment.

I wish she’d stop clapping her hands. Like that’s going to help. 

Maybe if I sit down, she’ll get the message. 

(sits)

Oh no. She’s coming this way. Change of plans. 

Run!

Where to go (pant pant). Where to go. 

Back room? There’s that tall bed I could hide under. 

Nah. She’ll just wait until I come out.

His office? He never tries to pick me up. Maybe he’ll save me.

Doubtful. He’s always on her side.

I’ve got it!

Circle the couch. It’s big and out in the open. How long can she last?

(pant pant) 

Her big bare feet are slapping the wood floor behind me. Hah. Like she’ll be able to catch me. I may be small, but I’m quicker than the humans.

Yikes, she got a finger on me. Better sprint.

Bye Felecia. 

Whatever that means. I hear her say it all the time when she’s annoyed. 

(pant pant)

She’s still trailing me. We’re going around in circles. Maybe she’ll get that vertigo stuff she gets sometimes and stop this ridiculous attempt to bond. I have things to do. Naps to take. Sniffing the kitchen floor. Barking at sidewalk intruders out the front window. Sit and stare. Or, my favorite—follow the human.

You know. Important stuff.

Wait.

Did I even lick my butt clean this morning?

(pant pant)

She’s laughing. Oh, so now it’s a game?

I can’t take this much longer. This isn’t fun. 

Ouch. My hip is cramping up. I’m 14 years old people! That’s 78 in 

human years. 

Do humans chase 78-yr-old humans? 

I think not.

Last time human grandma was here, they were helping her down the stairs of the deck. They never help me. It’s leash on and a half mile jog. 

(pant pant)

I’m thirsty. I’ll make a break for the kitchen.

Hmmm. What’s that smell?

The boy is in here. He’s got something up there on the counter.

(sniff sniff)

Oh man. I think it’s peanut butter.

I’ll get as close to him as I possibly can without him knowing it. Maybe he’ll drop something.

Ouch! He stepped on my bad paw. 

He’s scolding me. 

The nerve!

Here’s an idea. Watch out for small old dogs. I live here too you know.

Where’s he going?

Upstairs. Ugh. 

I’m not going up there. That’s where I go when I need to throw up.

(looks around)

I lost her. Yes!

Wait. Why did she give up? 

I’m lonely now.

(searches the house looking for her)

Where is she?

(sniffs at bathroom door)

Oh. She’s in there.

(sits and stares at door)

I better wait and make sure she’s really in there.

Maybe I should have let her pet me. I hope she’s ok.

(bathroom door opens—she smiles)

Ugh. She’s fine. I’m over it.  

Time for sunbathing in the dining room. 

Awww. The wood floor is nice and warm. My hip will feel better before you can say—

“Opal!”

Oh no.

I’ll pretend I’m asleep.

(snores)

“Opal! Let’s go outside!”

Yeah. Like that’s going to happen. I relieved myself in your bedroom twenty minutes ago. It was an accident. I swear.

(yawns—stretches out—snores louder)

“Come on girl. Go outside.”

Outside does sound nice. But this early? Usually I have to wait until late afternoon.

(trots to door)

Ugh. The leash. Why must I be tethered to the humans at all times? It’s not like I’m going to run away. 

Well…there was that one time when the gate was open in the backyard. Best time of my life.

Careful! Don’t knock me in the head with that big plastic retractable thingy. Geez. It’s bigger than my food bowl.

(door opens—sprints down the steps)

Grass! Oh glorious grass.

(sniff sniff sniff sniff sniff sniff sniff sniff)

Ow. That’s my neck your tugging!

I want to find a spot if you’ll just give me ten minutes. What’s the hurry anyway?

Fine. There’s a better spot down the way. That three-legged chihuahua has probably marked it. I’m sure he does it just to aggravate me. I see the look he gives me when he passes the front window. 

Here it is. Yep, he’s been here.

(holds up one leg—pees one drop)

Take that gimpy. I can pee both ways buddy. Un-lady like I know, but deeply satisfying.

(leash tug)

Fine. Fine. I’m coming. 

Uh oh. She’s shortening the leash. Time to get these old legs moving.

Hey. Look at all the dogs out with their humans. Something is definitely going on in the world. This could be the best thing that ever happened for us dogs. No more lonely days. More walks. Maybe I’m coming around to this new way of things after all.

Now, to bark or not to bark at that Maltipoo coming our way? That is the question.

Definitely bark.