Crazy From the Heat

The hot weather brings out the worst in me.  If I'm not stretched out on the kitchen floor trying to suck the cold out of the tiles while moaning piteously, or sighing loudly in the bedroom hoping that someone will take pity on me and turn on the air conditioner, I'm up and about searching for ways to be troublesome.

Now, seeing that it is nearly the end of June in New York, the temperature outside has been slowly climbing.  Not high enough, I'm sad to say, to guarantee that someone would turn on the air conditioner for me (don't the humans realize that I'm wearing a fur coat?!), but certainly high enough to seek out trouble.  I started causing trouble in earnest last week when for three consecutive mornings I woke Ma and Pa up at 6:30am, 5:30am, and 4:30am to go outside and eat breakfast before returning to bed (for some reason, Ma and Pa did not find this arrangement fun) and nearly destroyed one of Sister's shoes when she wasn't looking.  Both offenses, however, proved to be merely practice for the troublesome situations that I would get myself into yesterday.

What Remains of My Pillow

First, I killed my pillow in Ma and Pa's room.  I ripped off the zipper pulls (and deposited them neatly at the threshold of the room), tore open the zipper track, then proceeded to rip the track from the fabric of the pillow cover.  If Sister hadn't heard the ripping sound (I had actually started killing my pillow prior to her coming home from work, but because I hadn't finished what I was doing, I was forced to continue with her in the house), I would have managed to pull the actual pillow from the pillow case and potentially shred it, but, well, I guess it wasn't meant to be.  Sister yelled at me for breaking my pillow and put it into the "Land of No," but not before I managed to give her a big wet kiss across the face (I'm not a kissy dog, but I've come to realize that a well timed sign of affection usually softens my humans up).

After about five minutes of "I'm not talking to you because you were not a good boy," Sister asked me if I wanted to go outside.  Of course I did!  Sister and I spent about ten minutes checking the perimeters and pulling wild mushrooms out of the lawn (Sister's concerned that I might try to eat the mushrooms, but why would I want to eat them when there is an entire yard full of sticks and grass to chew on?).  Anyway, after a while, Sister decided to take a break from the hunt and sit on the side step.  Usually, I join Sister at the side step, sit on her feet and demand that she scratch my neck until I collapse on the floor and demand a belly rub.  It's our thing.  This time, however, I kept myself busy by snuffing around on the floor which lulled Sister into a false sense of security (which was exactly my plan).

Helping Myself

My troublesome activities were brought to Sister's attention when she heard the distinct sound of my lips smacking.  She looked over to me and realized, with horror, that I was helping myself to a strawberry plant that was sitting alongside the side stoop.  Sister jumped up screeching "No!" and shooed me off, but I had instantaneously developed a taste for strawberries and a little screaming and arm flailing was not about to stop me.  Back to the strawberry plant I went, again and again, carefully pulling off only the ripe fruit with what have now been dubbed my strawberry pickin' teeth (AKA my incisors).  Fed up with my antics and desperate to protect the remaining strawberries, Sister picked up the plant and placed it on top of a garbage can figuring that I'd leave it alone now that it was no longer at eye level.  Well, she was wrong.  I strolled right up to the garbage can, stretched out my neck, and started plucking off the strawberries that hung down the sides of the pot.  More screeching and arm flailing occurred before Sister picked up the plant and carried it toward the backyard (the whole time I was hot on her heals nipping at the strawberries that still hung from the plant's stems).  Once in the backyard, Sister placed the plant dead center on the picnic table; completely out of reach of any neck stretching or lapping tongues.  After a couple of quick calculations, I realized that the strawberry plant would not be out of reach if I jumped up onto the table.  The issue, however, was being left alone with the plant long enough to make my move--an issue which I never managed to overcome.  Every time I went outside, I hotfooted it to the table, but by this time everyone in my family was on to me and would not leave me alone to put my plan into motion.  The next morning (today) the plant was moved to the safety of the outdoor "Land of No."

Next in my troublesome rampage (I was now only four hours in), I stole one of Sister's shoes, stole my travel shirt, ran up and down the stairs like a crazy dog just for the fun of it (a particularly treacherous activity seeing that the living room is not carpeted and I tend to skid into the couch when I transition from the stair to hardwood floors at top speeds), barked hysterically at some person who had the nerve to walk by the house, and then rummaged through Pa's closet.

Completely exhausted by my trouble laced spree, Ma offered me the one thing that would calm me down:  a PB&K also known as a peanut butter and kong (my kong toy stuffed with peanut butter).  After chowing down on all the peanut buttery goodness, I settled down and took a nap.  That nap transitioned smoothly into a restful night sleep which was apparently just what the doctor ordered because I woke up recharged and ready to begin anew today (I shredded the dust cover of Pa's book).