A Guilt-free Treat

There are only so many ways you can show someone you care. I've tried bounding up to them. I've tried sniffing their bottoms, their crotches, hands (especially those who don't run them under water), the backs of knees and bare toes. I've tried beating them with my tail, a glancing shove as I squeeze past them in the hallway or panting hard from behind. I've tried dribbling with my tongue hanging down – and a most impressive length it is too – I've cleared my throat of spit, chewed what's come up in the process, wiped my chin on their skirts (an effective tool with the Old Lady), I've even tried farting and if I look surprised then it's all the more poignant. I've tossed my bedding aside, ripped holes in my best blanket and delivered odd shoes here and there but to no avail. They still think I'm going out of my way to be annoying. And do you know what? I'll let you into a little secret: sometimes, just sometimes, I am. Sometimes, I get great pleasure out of waiting until they're about to leave the house, rushing from the kitchen to the living room in search of their keys (why are humans so dumb when it comes to getting in and out of houses?) or missing shoes, their coat or iPod before doing a bit of shadowing. Shadowing? It's a technique I've perfected. You have to have lightning reflexes. But that's not the clever bit. To be quick on your feet and to look old and doddery is an art form. You see, get that right and in no time, they'll be piling feelings of guilt onto themselves at the same rate that those older young humans do when they're trying to make their fur stand up.

Female humans seem to be good at guilt. That much I've noticed. Me? I eat, sleep and walk. She runs here and there, raising her voice to call them to heel, even at me which is silly seeing as how I'm deaf but I get the gist of it just the same. Guilt drives Her. I am driven by Bakers Complete and the art of compromise or lets call it being plain realistic. I know that it's not top-notch grub but it's my bread and butter and that much I've learned to accept. In between my meals, which, I must say have been ill-timed of late, I have managed to grab the odd snack. One has to be resourceful, especially in the current climate. And yes, it adds to Her stress but I can't be responsible for everything happening in this house. And no, I don't feel guilty. Take today as an example. I've been tossed aside, left alone and ignored, the Old Lady hasn't popped in with any kind words or crusts and She went off to do something called study. As a gift, She brought me back a nut flapjack. Of course, it wasn't handed to me on a plate and the experience of discovery is always sweet. The only fly in the ointment was that He interrupted me, just as the little oat pieces and nuts were exploding deliciously on my gums and I was sent into an orgasmic orbit of oral....audacity. He had the audacity to use the word audacity and all I was doing was helping myself. He took the wrapper away before I'd finished it. Bastard.

So there she was feeling guilty about abandoning me for the day, coming back to tease me with a special concealed treat. I obliged by consuming the said treat and He whips it away without any guilt whatsoever. That puts him in the same kennel as me, doesn't it? If I'm honest, I don't think that us dogs and male humans will ever completely work out the female of the species but we should go through the motions of showing we care. Bottom sniffing aside, it's a precarious balance to negotiate.