The Protest

What?

The last time I posted, I wrote about Pa wanting to take away my air conditioner (okay, Sister thinks it’s her air conditioner) smack dab in the middle of the hot and balmy month of September.  I also wrote about Sister stepping up in my defense and demanding that the air conditioner remain in its window for the time being.

Well, for over a month, Sister and I worked together to retain control over our air conditioner.  Sometimes we stayed mum to avoid drawing attention to the magic cooling box in the window.  Sometimes, we whined piteously about how hot it was and boasted about how we would cool off in the air conditioning while the rest of the family sat around and sweat. 

But then Sister became a turncoat.  She started complaining to Pa that it was getting cold at night and that the air conditioner in the window was letting the cold air in.  Then, two days ago, Pa caved to Sister’s whining and climbed the stairs to her room armed with the empty air conditioner storage box.

Hot on his tail, I scurried up the stairs after Pa and watched in disbelief and horror as he removed the air conditioner from Sister’s window.  Inconsolable, I threw myself down in the doorway between Sister’s room and the hallway and did something that I never ever do on the second floor: I lay quietly. 

You see, when I was an obnoxious little puppy with large gnashing teeth and a bad attitude, I used to get into an awful lot of trouble upstairs because I was under the impression that I could be extra bad when I was up there (I mean, I was a juvenile delinquent on the main floor and how I acted there paled in comparison to how I acted on the second floor).  In fact, my family even had a daily warning for me. “First floor rules apply,” they’d say.  Eventually, when I finally outgrew my terror years, most trips upstairs resulted in at least one howling/screaming/barking/snout-rubbing/digging session.  Why?  Why not?  It’s fun!  And since my family’s been working from home, those sessions have only increased in intensity and frequency (I particularly enjoy howling and carrying on through Pa’s daily four o’clock conference call). 

Anyway, there was no howling/screaming/barking/snout-rubbing/digging at this moment.  No, I just lay there despondently mourning the loss of my air conditioner and reflecting on Pa and Sister’s ultimate betrayal. 

But then I heard the words: “Uh, Bud, could you get up?”  Pa was behind me having pushed the air conditioner, in its box, from the window to the threshold of the room.  The air conditioner’s winter resting place was the room just down the hall, however, I lay between Pa and the air conditioner and the other room.  “Bud?” he repeated and I lazily lifted my head and looked up at him with my big brown eyes.  “Think you can move?” he asked. I blinked twice, lowered my head to rest my chin on my paw, and sighed a deep drawn out sigh. 

It was at that moment that Pa realized that this was not me being ornery or lazy.  No, this was me standing up (by way of lying down) in protest over the loss of my beloved air conditioner.

The Summer Ain't Over Until the Dog Says So

Last week, with September waning, Pa decided that it was the perfect time to declare Summer 2020 to be over and to put away all the air conditioners in the house.  Needless to say, I was devastated by this news (the pulling of the air conditioners that is).  I mean, yeah, the last 3+ day heatwave we experienced was back in July, but the summer really isn’t over for me until there’s snow on the ground (hey, I wear a luxurious and full fur coat every day…I get hot).  Anyway, I watched in utter sorrow and disbelief as he went around the first floor pulling out the ACs from the living room and the bedroom.  With two down and one to go, Pa started up the stairs to Sister’s room, but, getting wind of his intentions, Sister, my hero, came running out of her office screaming “no.”  Sister explained to Pa that it was way too early to take out her air conditioner; that there were plenty more warm weather days to come.  Pa scoffed at Sister, but ultimately gave in to her pleas probably just to stop her from whining (the girl’s got some serious talent in that department).

A couple of days passed with cool nighttime temperatures, but then, Sunday came.

As soon as I got home from a weekend out east, I noticed how hot the house was and expressed my displeasure by panting dramatically.  Sister, always on the same wavelength as me, also commented about the heat and complained about the lack of air conditioning on the first floor.  Later, as the family sweated over their ravioli and meat sauce dinner, Sister promised me that she and I would sleep upstairs in the air conditioning that night.

Later when bedtime came around, I refused to snooze in Ma and Pa’s room while I waited for Sister to finish showering.  Instead, I sprawled out directly in front of the stairs going up to the second floor to make sure that Sister did not forget her promise and sneak off to bed without me.

And you know what?  It worked.  When Sister found me at the base of the stairs waiting for her, she leaned down and asked, “You wanna go up in the AC?”  Well, she didn’t have to ask me twice. I jumped up and scurried up the stairs as fast as I could.

Me and My AC

Eventually, Sister also made her way upstairs as well (she paused to say goodnight to Ma and Pa…I issued a single warning bark to hurry her along).  Upon entering her bedroom, she turned on the air conditioner and, I immediately ran to my pillow and began taking in the cooling breeze and white noise issuing from the air conditioner.  An hour later, once the room was nice and cool and Sister was huddled under a sheet and two blankets, I was able to truly relax and fell into a deep sleep along side Sister’s bed (so she’s trip over me if she decided to turn off the AC in the middle of the night).

Snoozing

Monday night wasn’t quite as warm as Sunday night, but I repeat…24/7 fur coat.  While Sister dawdled in the living room watching the news, I took up my spot in the hallway blocking her from the stairs.  When I heard the footrest fold back into her chair, I played it cool and kept my head down so as not to appear too anxious.  However, as soon as I heard her say goodnight to Ma and Pa, I quickly lifted my head and gave Sister my big brown eyes.

“Rigby,” she said, “you can come up, but I can’t promise that I’ll turn the air conditioner on.”

My eyes darted once toward the stairs and then back to Sister.

“It’s really not that hot,” Sister explained.

My eyes darted once toward the stairs and then back to Sister.

Sister sighed.  “Fine,” she said, “I’ll turn it on for now, but no guarantees it will be on all night.”

My eyes darted once toward the stairs and then back to Sister.

“Well, go ahead.  You wanna go up in the AC?”

Jumping up, I propelled myself forward toward the stairs and scurried up them as fast as my legs could carry me.

Once upstairs, Sister turned the AC on and I threw myself down on the floor next to her bed.  Minutes later, Sister was huddled under a sheet and two blankets and I, well, I was comfortable (you might want to turn the sound up for this video). 

A Nighttime Mystery

Wearing Pa's Shoes

Click, click, click, click, click.

That was the noise that woke Ma up from a dead sleep this weekend. Without opening her eyes, Ma’s mind immediately went to work trying to identify the sound. Was it a woodpecker hammering on the siding of the house? She opened one eye and saw that it was still very much dark outside. No, woodpeckers wouldn’t be up at whatever hour of the night it was. Maybe it was an owl, she thought. After all, owls had repeatedly been heard in the area over the last handful of weeks. But owls don’t peck at the side of buildings, she concluded. So what could the sound be?

Click, click, click, click, click.

By this time, Pa was also awake. After a few seconds of contemplation, he sat up and looked down at the floor.

Snoozing

There I was, fast asleep, dreaming happy dog dreams of chasing stupid little bunnies and squirrels out of my backyard. And every stride I took in my dream caused my legs to twitch and my toe nails to click, click, click, click, click against the wall.

Mystery solved. 

Pa's Faux-Pas

Do you remember how mortified I was when I accidentally bit Pa when a gag reflex sent my canine tooth through his pointer finger? (If you don’t, here’s the post). And then, afterwards, how I followed him around for days groveling with my ears low and tail down? It was traumatic. It was horrific. It was quite possibly the worst day of my entire life (and I’ve had days where I’ve jumped out of moving vehicles and tried moving a house with the side of my face).

Well, I’m over it now. I’m no longer ashamed of what I did and it’s all because Pa did something to me that made my faux-pas seem insignificant.

Pa vacuumed my butt.

Now, I know some pups are offended by the vacuum cleaner; in fact, some are downright scared of it. Not me. Don’t get me wrong, I dislike the fact that vacuums are responsible for removing the dirt, leaves, and sticks that I so carefully drag in with me from my adventures outside. I’m also keenly aware that the vacuum has been responsible for quite a few interrupted naps over the years. But really, when it comes to my feelings about the vacuum, I’m neutral; I don’t really think much about it.

Because of this lack of interest, it’s no surprise that this weekend, while Pa was pushing the vacuum around the house, I simply snoozed away in the kitchen, waiting for the very last minute when I’d have to get up and move to a new local so Pa could vacuum the spot where I was sleeping. When the time came, however, I guess I didn’t move fast enough. I was lying there with my head down watching Pa when, all of a sudden, I saw Pa’s eyes go wide and I felt a sharp tug on my butt.

“I’m so sorry, Squirt!” I heard Pa shout as he turned off the vacuum.

Confused, I got up and looked around. What I saw was shocking. There, hanging from the front of the vacuum, was a one-inch wide chunk of fluffy golden fur. My fluffy golden fur.

Now, unlike Pa who “screamed like a girl” when I accidentally bit him all those years ago, I did not make a peep when that chunk of fur was unceremoniously ripped out. In fact, its removal didn’t even impact my rugged good looks as neither me nor my family can even find the spot that was de-furred so rudely (luckily, I have thick, luxurious fur). But still, the entire event was disturbing. Way more disturbing than me accidentally taking a nibble out of Pa’s finger.

Guilt and PB&Ks

My family often comments how easily I pick up tricks and remember things that I approve of and how stubborn I am when it comes to adapting to the behaviors they favor or remembering things that they think are important. Exasperated by my “selective memory,” they’ve made many a comment such as “he remembers that he saw a cat hiding behind the garage last week and keeps looking for it, yet if you tell him to “sit,” he looks at you like you’re speaking a different language.”

It’s offensive the way they keep bringing it up so frequently, however, they aren’t entirely wrong. I’m an independent pup and I make up my own mind and do what I want. Not to mention, sometimes that “selective memory” is actually part of a clever plot to make my family do exactly what I want them to do. Here’s a recent example.

About a week ago, when I went outside to do my early evening perimeter check after my family finished their dinner, Ma surprised me upon my return with a PB&K (Peanut Butter [stuffed in a] Kong) left on my pillow. It was a great surprise and I happily settled down for an evening of eating peanut butter and gnawing on the rubbery Kong.

The next night, after I went outside and did my perimeter check, I wasted no time in getting back inside the house figuring that another PB&K would be waiting for me. I ran through the kitchen, I skidded through the dining room, I scurried through the living room, and I screeched to a halt in front of my pillow. But there was no PB&K! In utter disbelief, I checked on either side of my pillow—maybe it had rolled off—but I wasn’t wrong; there was no PB&K. I turned and looked to Ma. She and Sister were laughing. “He expected another PB&K to appear on his pillow—how does he remember?” they asked each other.

I was both angry and embarrassed. It was bad enough that they were making fun of me, but to be subjected to such ridicule without the reward of a PB&K was beyond disturbing.

But then, I got an idea. If I managed to make Ma feel guilty about making fun of me, eventually she’d be forced to get me a PB&K.

I turned back to my pillow and, feigning panic, continued looking. I looked all around my pillow and under the couch. I checked where Ma and Sister were sitting (making sure to drag my slobbery chin across their legs in the process). Then I went back to my pillow and stared at it in disbelief. Guilt ridden, and a little grossed out by the slobber dripping down her knee, Ma eventually caved. Into the kitchen she went to make me a PB&K (and to wipe off her leg with a paper towel).

The next evening—night three—arrived and I came into the house much as I did the previous one. Into the living room I rushed and was discouraged to find that, yet again, there was no PB&K waiting for me. I turned on my faux-anxiety and this time Sister caved first.

But rather than get my me PB&K, Sister was mean and decided that she should first have some fun at my expense. She went into the kitchen and brought back into the living room not a PB&K but a cookie. “Cover his eyes,” Sister instructed Ma and then, once my eyes were covered, Sister quickly hid MY COOKIE!!!!

“Find the cookie” Sister instructed as Ma removed her hands from my eyes.

Suddenly, my faux-anxiety morphed into sheer panic. Where was my cookie?! I looked at Ma. I looked at my pillow. I looked at Sister. Then I went back to Ma. Ma and Sister tried coaching me. They kept instructing me to find the cookie and pointed toward my spot on the couch. “No,” I thought frantically, “that’s my spot, not my cookie.” I was inconsolable.

Eventually, Ma reached over to my spot and pulled the cookie from the corner to the middle of the cushion. “Find the cookie” she instructed pointing directly at the Milkbone. By this time, I was completely and totally frantic and did not even notice that the cookie was right there in the open. “Use your nose” Sister instructed which I found less than useful. The laughter issuing from both Ma and Sister was even less so.

Eventually, Ma handed me the cookie. It tasted good, but I knew two things that would taste even better: slinging guilt and a PB&K.

Although I had consumed the cookie, I made sure not to rachet down the anxiety. I continued pacing the room looking for cookies even though I knew there were no others. After a few moments of watching me search the room, the guilt got to be too much for Ma and she stalked off to the kitchen for my PB&K. I had won on both counts. 

So yes, I had to undergo some criticism, but really, in the end, I won out. And all because my family has been so well trained.

Famous

I consider myself a kind of celebrity.  I mean, I've got dashing good looks and people who wait on me paw and tail.  I've been asked to pose for photos with complete strangers and I've shown up at countless virtual meetings Sister has held over the last few months.  And of course, there is this blog and all my loyal readers.

But today, I became even more famous.  Today I became the model for a digital book collection.

That's right, yours truly is a star!

Crazy From The Heat

I am not a fan of summer.

Sure, you’ll occasionally find me lounging on the driveway or on the deck baking in the sun because in small amounts it feels good, but by and large, I like to be cool and being cool means chilling inside with the air conditioner on full blast.

And what happens when there is a multi-day New York heat wave and the air conditioner is not running twenty-four hours a day?

I go crazy from the heat!

Now, my family might argue that it is virtually impossible to differentiate between my crazy from the heat howling/snout rubbing and my normal everyday howling/snout rubbing and to that I say...turn the air conditioner back on!