Jailhouse Rock

Dear Reader,

Dog has a way of expressing sad resignation when she is confined to her crate against her will.  She sighs and lets her head fall against the crate door so it clangs on its hinges.  The more frequently she gets in trouble, the more frequently she gets sent to her "room" and the more frequently I hear ...Sigh...Clang.

The most exciting incident of this week was on Tuesday.  LandLady likes to start her days with coffee and toast, and on Tuesday morning, she took the European approach to this classic breakfast by warming the previous evening's Italian bread and adding plenty of butter.

Dog, baby gatted in the TV room, watched these proceedings with interest.

Dog watches all food related proceedings with interest.  She knows where her food is kept.  She knows where the human food is kept.  She knows where her treats are kept in two different rooms.  And she knows that LandLady uses Pony's crate as a table for things like buttered Italian toast.

So, on Tuesday, Dog watched LandLady depart the kitchen with her slice of toast.

And then...I don't quite remember the details... but something happened to the baby gate between the kitchen and the TV room. The most likely explanation is that Dog tried to jump the gate and knocked it down instead.  Pony then decided that rather than following LandLady back to the sitting room, he would make a visit to the back of the house where Dog and I are living.   He's peed on our floors more than once so, I immediately went after him.  LandLady left her toast by the sofa and came back toward the kitchen to fetch Pony.

And as I returned Pony to LandLady's hands, I heard the sound of Dog-the-opportunist galloping toward the front of the house.  I raced into the sitting room where I found Dog with her head thrown back desperately trying to swallow a slice of buttered toast whole.  A few strategic chews would have facilitated the swallowing, but there was clearly no time for that, since at any moment That Person might come in (which I did) and deprive her of this fabulous (second) breakfast (which I did).

With slobbery toast in one hand and Dog's collar in the other, we marched back to our side of the house where Dog was duly imprisoned while I set about making LandLady a replacement slice of toast.

*Sigh.

*Clang.

*

Practicing tough love,

~~ LeAn

* A reader asked for a few photos of Dog and Pony.  So here she is dreaming of her next great escape.