Bozo the dog

We haven’t discussed the idiot dog lately.  You can rest assured there is nothing wrong with him.  He’s still around.  He’s still an idiot.  At this very moment he is asleep, stretched out happy as he can be with his head on my pillow next to the man he loves more than life.  They snore happily together. 

The cat and I are totally disgusted.

The dog is such a clown.  I’ll give an example to prove my point.  As if the

Napping on the table

table-sitting antics didn’t do it already.

He stands outside,  frantic to come in.  He fiddles with the knob. He jumps against the door.  He bays incessantly.  There is whining.

When I finally let him in he erupts through the doorway.  Hitting the area rug at a dead run, it accordions up into the wall where he smashes into the closet door in the office.  He regains his feet and, with a burst of speed, he does what I call the Scooby-Doo move – all four feet are running but he’s not going anywhere.  His goal is the hallway that will take him past the laundry room where he can either go straight into the family room or make a hard left into the kitchen, but there’s a sharp right turn to the hallway that he has never made without first slamming head first into the wall.  Understandably, that slows him down quite a bit and he’s able to right himself and aim down the hallway.  Of course, he wants to turn left into the kitchen – after all that’s where all the good smelling stuff is, but in order to do that he’ll have to do a hip-check into the door jamb.

Keep in mind that all of this is done while baying at top volume.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW! 

If you doubt me, ask Kelli or Ava.  They have heard all this on any number of occasions when they call the house.

I guess, if I was inclined to look on the bright side of all this, at least the dog, with all that racket, will never sneak up on me.