Over the past week, I’ve made it a goal to teach Oliver to shake.
We got off a slow start, with him looking at me like I had three heads.
“What is this ‘shaking business’ you speak of? Where are my treats? Don’t you know I don’t do this stuff for free?”
Eventually, after several days and more treats than I’d care to admit, Oliver finally knows how to shake.
But he still looks at me like I have three heads.
So, this past weekend as I was sitting at the table, minding my own business, Oliver comes and starts to lick my leg. Not unusual.
Then he started jumping on me, numerous times. After a few tries I scolded him and said “NO.”
That’s where he got bold. A few minutes later, I felt something warm on my foot.
HE PEED ON MY FOOT.
He got mad that I wouldn’t pick him up to sit on my lap, and in return he peed on my foot.
After cleaning up and dragging him out from under the couch where he was hiding (he knew he did wrong), we had a chat.
“Oliver. I feed you. I walk you. I clean up after you. I buy you toys. THIS IS WHAT I GET?”
He then tried to lick my face.
The end.
Before you go on and say, “I told you so,” (because nothing annoys me more than people telling me the obvious) let me just say I knew this day would probably happen. I will also say that I’m actually not mad. Why? Because those shoes were looking pretty pathetic beforehand anyway, and I was just postponing the fact that I would have to get an other pair of black heels for work that I would in no time beat up and wear out. I’m not sure how I do it. Maybe I walk too hard? Either way, I’m just relieved this didn’t happen to my running shoes. (How the times have changed when sneakers take precedence over heels.)
The morning this happened, I was getting some much needed sleep. The day before, the combination of remaining jet-lag and the measly one hour time change finally caught up to me and I spent all day wanting to take a nap. Oliver, on the other hand, wasn’t satisfied that I at least woke up at 5:45, took him out and fed him before getting back into bed for a few more hours of sleep. No, he wanted to play. And when he realized that wasn’t going to be happening, he took it out on my shoe. And boy, does he look proud.
The weather has been fantastic the past few days, and on Monday evening I took Oliver to a nearby park and ran around with him. Literally- we ran in circles over and over again. Once we got home he was, of course, exhausted.
Now that it’s warmer I’ve noticed that Oliver has taken to sprawling out when he sleeps. That night I looked over the edge of my bed to see him sprawled out all over his pillow, and when I called his name, he looked back at me over his shoulder. It was such a diva pose, I cracked up.
One thing I noticed early on with Oliver was that he doesn’t deal well with me leaving for extended periods of time. I often receive picture messages of Oliver sitting by the door and waiting when I’ve been away on weekends, and this time, received emails of how Oliver decided that going to the bathroom outside was overrated, even after long, extended walks to prevent any “accidents.” We decided this was his reaction to my decision to leave town for a week on a vacation that was planned months in advance.
I got back from a lovely vacation and was greeted by pee, jumping, and crying. When I sat down on the couch to play with him, he jumped on my back, clawed my hair, and whined. It was quite the reunion. As dramatic as he can be, I’m pretty glad to see him too.
I start to worry when the house gets silent. If I can’t hear the tags on his collar jingling, a squeaky toy being tortured, or a rawhide being chewed within an inch of its “life,” I start to worry. Too much silence is never a good sign.
Sometimes though, I’m surprised. Sometimes I find Oliver perfectly chilled out, sunbathing by the kitchen doors.
Or sitting, with his perfect pug posture, staring at nothing but the wall.
