A Buzzing Butt

Over the years, I've been under the impression that "The Land of No," wherever it was located, was thus named based of the simple fact that there were fun things inside its boarders that my family wanted all for themselves.  For instance, the basement “Land of No” is a safe haven for dirty laundry and mismatched socks (nothing beats digging through dirty laundry), the first floor temporary “Land of No” can be filled with anything from Christmas presents to drying craft projects (a great place for maximum destruction), and the outdoor “Land of No,” located alongside the house, is home to some of the most pristine mud patches to dig holes in and, in the summer, a ton of cherry tomatoes (yum!). To me, “The Land of No” has always been a synonym for "A Place In Which Rigby Would Like To Play, But Is Not Allowed."

However, I’ve recently come to the realization that my theory is flawed.  Sometimes, “The Land of No” isn’t a fun place at all.  Sometimes, it's a place where scary things and noises live.

Over the last couple of weekends, Pa has spent all his free time working in the basement--ripping down walls, putting them back up again, and putting up a ceiling.  He's told me repeatedly that once the basement is "finished," it would no longer be considered a "Land of No" and that I'd be allowed to hang out and play there.  To him, this sounds like a good thing, but to be honest, it doesn't sound that great to me.  A "finished basement" means that all the fun stuff I would love to chew on and all the weird places I'd like to explore would be removed or closed off (and if that happens, why would anyone want to spend time down there?)

So anyway, last weekend Pa was installing the ceiling downstairs, I was snoozing in the living room, and Ma and Sister were watching TV (I would have preferred to be helping Pa, but he had already informed me that I wasn't allowed to help and that he didn't have time to play my favorite game:  "Rigby Grabs a Tool and Runs Around the House While Pa Chases Him Trying to Get it Back"). I was about ten minutes into my early afternoon nap and thoroughly enjoying a dream involving my pizza tree, when all of a sudden I was awoken by a loud bzzzz and the sensation of my butt vibrating.

Me, Concerned

I won't lie. I was definitely concerned by this development, but I was able to quickly write it off as simply part of my dream--after all, I've been connected to this butt for almost 5 years now and it's never vibrated once before.  Annoyed that my nap had been disrupted, I got up, moved over a couple of feet to a nice cool spot on the floor, and settled back down.  However, as soon as I fell back asleep, my butt started vibrating again.

There was no denying it.  My butt was definitely vibrating and I had no idea why.  Frantic, I jumped up and ran over to Sister who started rubbing my ears in sympathy, but as soon as I sat down to thoroughly enjoy my ear rub, my butt vibrated again.  Next, I ran to Ma.  She reached over to pat my head, but before she could, I felt the floor vibrating beneath my feet.  It was following me!

I Even Commandeered the Blanket

Now, I'm a very clever dog, if I do say so myself.  After thinking about it for a couple of seconds, not only did I figured out the problem (the floor kept vibrating because Pa was using his cordless drill to hang the ceiling tiles directly below me), but I also came up with a solution (get off the floor).  With a single bound, I jumped up onto the couch, muscled Ma aside, curled up into a ball, and went back to my nap.

Who's smarter than me?  No one!

Now, every time Pa pulls out his cordless drill, I waste no time in fleeing the uncomfortable (and vibrating) floor and securing my spot on the nice comfy couch.