I thought we’d talk today about the personalities of our four-legged children.
Abi has always been a handful. She has odd little quirks and needs that only I understand. She talks. You know how a baby will talk gibberish. Abi does that. She raises the tone up and down. People can hear her jabbering on the phone. Other dogs can’t figure her out. Abi is the quacked duck we talked about.
She’s very territorial about food, but then that’s not really odd at all. But at night, she’s particularly needy. I will give them their food. We all eat at the same time. They think when I eat, they’re supposed to eat.
When she finishes that, I am to give them a tablespoon of cottage cheese, which the vet told me is good for their tender little bellies.
I often like to have a bowl of Braum’s ice cream after my meal, which is typically a potato, just as theirs is. I will give them their cottage cheese and sit down with my ice cream.
But Abi isn’t happy with that. She snarfs the food down and then starts unh-ing at me to come to her. I will keep saying let me eat my ice cream first, but Abi is not patient.
I can take care of all of these tasks and sit down with my ice cream. But that isn’t good enough.
Usually what she wants is for me to add more food to their dry dog food. If I put it in and she does not witness it, it does not count. Then she wants me to change their water.
When Abi has an audience, like when a friend comes over, or sometimes when I’m on the phone, she gets on the couch and does what I call her side stroke. She lays on her side and pushes her feet up and down, up and down, as if she’s doing the side stroke in a swimming pool. All the while talking her gibberish.
Yesterday Charlie was a mess. There was a fly in here and I couldn’t get it out. If I swat at it, it makes him even more afraid. Charlie ran from that fly the whole day. I could see him, down close to the floor running, from one spot to another to hide.
My Charlie is the vulnerable child on the playground who everyone knows is vulnerable, and so they’re taunted and made fun of. Everyone in this case is any insect with wings: gnats, flies, mosquitoes.
I tried to kill the fly, but then he’d hear the swat and run again. Finally at the end of the day poor Charlie just threw up under the bed. Guess he was afraid to do it out in the open because the fly might find him.
So that’s a bit about the pupsters. Get your coffee or tea or whatever beverage you enjoy in the morning, and tell me about the quirks and personality of your pets.