Mornings 'round Shasta's House
It was so cold this morning that Shasta simply would not get out of bed, but lay there like a lump looking through disheveled beard, head just poking out of the covers. She was torn between desperately having to pee and staying in her warm, soft nest. It took some coaxing but I got her to come out, promising to get her some warm roast beef bits and gravy with her dog food.
Our usual routine is to coax her out from under the covers with her little pink toy lobster, squeaking it back and forth. She jumps like a cat across the bed to catch the offending little toy, then stands up on her back legs, front ones catlike stretching up on my chest, looking at me rather petulantly as though I’d done her some injustice getting her off our pillow and out into the chill air of the room.
Generally I clip her collar round her neck as she sleeps without it at night for comfort, and lift her down to the floor. She immediately goes to investigate the toys in her dog bed on the floor next to my desk but eventually follows me to the kitchen and back door where she does that cat stretch on the door, letting me know it’s time to let her out to see to her business.
Clipping her lead to her collar, I taunt her by getting her so excited she emits a sharp bark, darting at the glass of the outer door, anxious to get out and catch a squirrel, or at least chase one out of her domain, where she rules like a stern monarch.
This morning, the grass was covered with frost and she was none too pleased about being out, however still conducted her morning ritual of investigating scents and little dents in the lawn where the squirrels have been, hoping to chase one out, I expect, although she has never gotten close enough to any other than the ones that sit atop the fence taunting her.
Not having spent much time in the frost, I saw that she was stooped on the back step waiting anxiously for me to let her in from the frigid frosty air she was only moments ago so excited to purvey. In she comes, and after I unclip her lead, she stands on her back legs and pushes open the inner door, trotting hungrily to her dog bowl where I have yet to fill with the proffered roast beef and gravy.
She sits under the kitchen table, near the heat vent and warms her bum. Hilarious. She won’t come out until I have her food ready and do the “countdown.” When she was a baby doggie, I used to make her wait to eat by counting to 10, 15, sometimes 20, then shout “OK!” and she would nearly leap to her dog bowl, devouring whatever I had for her. We still do that occasionally only it isn’t nearly as fun as when she was a puppy.
Immediately after eating, she walks to one of the rugs on the floor (we have wood floors so rugs everywhere) and begins licking herself like a cat, legs, paws, then sometimes even cleans her face like a cat with her paws. I’ve never seen another dog do this so imagine how entertaining it is! A few seconds later, she emits a small “brrrrp” so unladylike but so funny! My little cat-monkey!