Suspicious

What should I make of this? Today I was locked outside and Duncan was inside and he didn't say a word.

An Obstacle Preventing My Happiness: An Update on the Fence

We had the humans fooled, Duncan and I. The wind wouldn't blow down the barricade to the garden, Duncan would push it down so that he could have access. I would stand watching, my face crinkled and my eyes wide with amazement at what big dogs can do, as Duncan pushed over the old door with first his snout and then with his whole body. We would then have free reign of the place that Daddy had rototilled and Mommy had planted and watered.

But today Daddy blocked the way. He fixed the fence, and now I can't get in. When I first discovered that I had been exiled from the garden, I shot the humans a dirty look. I walked along the little fence and over to the big fence to see how I could get through. There is no way. Later, when Mommy was working in the garden, Duncan and I came over to see what she was doing. Duncan can see over the little fence, but I have to look between the slats. Again, I tried to find a way in, but to no avail. I tried my desperate look on Mommy, and threw in a little irritation to show her I was mad. All she did was speak to me sweetly and kept working in the garden, without me.

Noises

I am a noisy dog. When I sleep, I snore. When I run, I sound like an engine. When I am curious and sniffing around, I sound like a pig hunting for truffles. This evidence has led the humans to believe that pugs have no natural predators.

We have been fed. Duncan and I eat different foods becuase my parents think that I am a little chubby and need diet food. I don't understand chubby. I understand that I want Duncan's food. In fact, I feel strongly that there has been some inversion of what should be, which is why he is eating his own food. I ignore my food and bark at Duncan while he buries his face in the bowl. He continues eating, as if I am not there, as if he cannot hear me tolling the bell of injustice. My food sits in the other bowl. I continue to bark. Now I am standing directly behind Duncan, and since he is taller that I am I have a direct view of his food bowl between his legs. How can he stand there and eat his food when he knows that I want to eat his food? Eventually I acquiesce to the fact that even though Duncan has committed a great wrong, he has finished what was in the bowl. As he leaves the room he gives a glance toward my bowl. I scoot over there and finish what I've been given. When I'm through with my food, I go back to his bowl and lick it out.

Cold Weather

I, Poppy, do not like to go out into cold weather. The humans open the door and I stand there, twenty feet away, and look at them like they're crazy. They call to me. They clap their hands. They enlist each other to help get me outside. I will not go. Sometimes I sit, and stare at them, my lips pursed in protest. Sometimes I run under the dining table, where it's hard to catch me. It is cold. Who wants to go out there?

Tails

My tail is curly. It looks like a cinnamon bun when it is rolled up tight. It stays rolled up tight when I'm barking furiously at the neighbors who have the nerve to let me see them out the window. It stays rolled up tight when I'm eating my dinner, and when I am sitting at attention. When I want something from you and you are looking my way, I crinkle my forehead to look a little alarmed and a little worried then I twitch my tail, just barely, to indicate my intention. When I am lying down, and you walk toward me, I stay perfectly still while I look up at you with wide, liquid eyes and wag the cinnamon bun side to side in a slightly wider arc. In your peripheral vision my tail wagging looks like a butterfly.

I am only aware of my tail when you try to straighten it. Then I give you a dirty look.

Duncan has no tail awareness. He thumps it, rhythmically and with force, against walls and doors and cabinets. Lying down, he thumps it against the floor in the morning when our daddy asks him if he is hungry. Lying down, he thumps it against the floor when the Ones With the Thumbs talk about him, or say his name, or lean over to rub his tummy. They can pull his tail and he doesn't mind.

His tail is as long as me. When I stand behind him and he's excited, his tail thumps against my face.

Curiously, the Ones With the Thumbs have no tails. I wonder if these phenomena correlate. Does giving up a tail mean getting thumbs? Sort of like the Little Mermaid who got legs but lost her voice. But who wants thumbs when you can use your tail to coerce someone into getting your treat for you?

On Agitation and Alarm

The other day Duncan went outside and no one was there to let him back in. The Ones With the Thumbs were elsewhere in the house, not paying attention. Duncan, who is patient, waited for a long while at the door barked to get back in. Silly, silly Duncan. Doesn't he know that the way to get what you want is to agitate for it? I, Poppy, am often agitated -- many times for no apparent reason.

On this occasion, alarmed by Duncan's exile behind the big, oak door, I began to agitate for his reinstatement back into the house. I began to bark with conviction. "He's outside! He's outside! Someone curtail this disaster! He's outside!" Inspired by my cries for help, Duncan began to bark, too. My Mommy appeared. I looked at her with wide eyes, full of concern that we were inside and Duncan was Out There. I looked at the crack under the door, where I could see the shadow of Duncan's paws. I kept barking. "Look! Do you realize he's out there!"

Oh happy day! She let him in! As he came rushing through the door, I jumped up on him. Standing on my hind legs I put my forepaws up by his face and gave him a kiss. Sweet victory. If it hadn't been for me, I am sure Duncan would have been outside forever.