Trouble, trouble, trouble, trouble
Trouble been doggin’ my soul since the day I was born…
You know that commercial where the little dog tries to hide his bone to the tune of that Ray Lamontagne song? My dog evidently has taken the message in the commercial to heart.
Today is a rare rainy day in Wyoming, so little Libby can’t go outside and bark at the birds or hurl curses at the schnauzers next door like usual. So I figured I’d give her a nice big bone to chew. (The bone may look a little oversized, but any Jack Russell owner will tell you these little dogs chew with such determination that only a big bone will do.)
But does she settle down and chew it? No. Libby is a lot like a human three-year-old–she loves drama. She immediately decides it’s a beautiful bone, a rare bone, a bone to lovely to chew, and starts looking for a safe place to keep it.
Suddenly my dog has turned into the canine version of Gollum, and the bone is her prrecioussssss. It must be hidden. Yesss, hidden. First in her bed, then under three different chair cushions. Then she drops it down behind the sofa.
And realizes, with a yip, that she can’t get it out of there.
Then comes the begging, the sad puppy eyes, and lots of scrabbling at the carpet. I relent and do some scrabbling myself to fish the bone out for her. She decides she wants to take it outside, probably so she can taunt the schnauzers with it. But that’s not allowed.
Finally, I managed to ignore the drama and get involved with my work–but that means I have no idea where the bone ended up. All I can say is I hope it stays there.
And I hope it’s not under my pillow.