Clean Up

It is my overall goal in life to be comfortable.  I want my tummy to be comfortable so I am always in search of a snack I can steal, beg for, or (and this is a last resort) earn.  I want my body to be comfy so I seek out the softest place in the house to sleep (and yes, that means sleeping on the furniture).  And finally, I want to be emotionally comfy which is achieved by having all of my favorite things around me wherever I go.

That is why I have toys in pretty much every room of the house.  For instance, last evening Monkey-Monk was lounging in Sister's room, Nuclear Bunny was in the kitchen, Baby and Lenny the dinosaur were hanging out in the dining room, my toy box (filled with bones and stolen tennis balls from the park) as well as my latest Mini Mecki were in the living room, and Ma and Pa's room was playing host to Lyle-Lyle, Rudy, my red dinosaur (he has no name--no one thought he would survive long enough to require one), and the hippopotamus that my friend Ralphie and his mom gave me.

Unfortunately, my family has other definitions regarding feeling comfortable and, apparently, they include a certain level of neatness, organization, and clear walking paths.

It was just before bedtime and I was doing my best impression of "Puddle Dog" or "look-at-me-I'm-melting-from-the-summer-heat-oh-please-oh-please-won't-someone-turn-on-the-air-conditioner" on the living room floor.  Now, for those unaware (mainly those lucky people and dogs who live in central air), to accomplish this impression properly, one mustn't leave one's prone state unless absolutely necessary (after all, it doesn't make sense that one can be dying of heat yet completely capable of jumping up at will and scurrying away for trivial reasons), so one must choose one's location carefully.  Over the years, I've discovered the perfect spot; a spot in the living room which allows me to keep an eye on everyone in the room as well as anyone who heads toward the bedroom with the intention of turning on the air conditioning (air conditioning is always worth getting up for).

Anyway, on this particular night, Ma got up from her spot on the couch and headed into the bedroom.  Unwilling to give up on my impression of a "Puddle Dog" prematurely (I've been tricked before and now know that I cannot assume that just because someone goes into the bedroom it means that the air conditioner will be turned on), I watched for the tell tale sign of air conditioner use (the closing of the windows, the deliberate walk to the air conditioner, and the closing of the door).  Sadly, Ma showed no indication of turning on the blessed relief that is the air conditioner.

But something was happening because a minute or so after Ma went into the bedroom, she emerged carrying Lyle-Lyle, Rudy, the red dinosaur, and the hippopotamus all the while complaining that there was no room to walk because my toys were all over the floor.  She then unceremoniously dumped all four toys into my toy box.  Adding insult to injury, she then circled through all the other rooms on the first floor and systematically picked up all my toys and deposited them all into the toy box as well.

Well, I was shocked, appalled, and dismayed by this predicament.  I was so shocked, appalled, and dismayed that I gave up on my "Puddle Dog" impression, scurried over to my toy box, grabbed my hippopotamus, and hot footed it into the bedroom.  Once in the bedroom, I tossed my toy back onto the floor and walked away.

Ma was not amused by my antics.  Sister, on the other hand, laughed and told me that I was a good boy.  Pa, however, won my favor by calling me back into the room and turning on the air conditioner.  Thanks Pa!