Yeah, right. Epic fail, she laughs waaay too much.
Not that I am a disobedient dog, nor a daft dog… regardless of what some people might say. Far from it. I understand human very well. I am just … well, let’s say I’m something of a free –thinker. Only to be encouraged, I believe.
You see, you have to get the priorities right. Housetraining… perfect straight away. No was soon learned too… look, I said I understand it… not that I would always obey! Sit… Paw… Clean up… yep, no problem… just give me a plant pot and all the balls can be tidied away. If I choose to use the plant pot to throw the balls with again, well, that just proves my intelligence. If she throws the ball, we all know where it will land… she is useless and must actually aim for the sofa, I think. Then has to tell me to get it then… and I’ll pounce. Good fun and all that, but random objects bouncing around the room from a well shaken pot… that is a different ball game altogether.
Words like walk, dinner, breakfast, milk, cheese, ice cream and biscuits and chicken…even bedtime… all went in a breeze. Downstairs and bath I got fairly quickly as well… it seemed a good move. I know the name of every toy without fail. Doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll bring the one she tells me… not if there is a choice between, say, a ferret and a ball. No contest really.
I know all my two and four legged friends by name and know where to find ‘em too. Gooch means we are going in the car for a playdate… Alex means I get to be Tigger for an hour or so… Nick means cuddles… and who on earth expects me to distinguish between Stu and stew anyway? Still, it’s either the crock pot or the door… and either will do!
Now, okay, I admit, I may get a bit over-excited where balls are concerned… I mean, why wouldn’t you? So it was really sneaky of her to bring me a new ball the other day. I was soooo pleased with it I forgot myself and when she told me to fetch, I did. Big mistake. She realised I knew that one too and decided to work on the whole fetch, drop, sit scenario.
Trouble is, I’m a sucker for good girl and all the cuddles and back rubs that go with it. So I have been rather hoist with my own petard, as your saying goes. She explained it to me, and it has nothing to do with the French root… or the actions of my stomach… more to do with little round balls that explode… now, balls I can cope with… but there are limits!
So I’m feeling a bit glum this morning… after holding out for so long, she seems convinced she has me trained with this fetch and drop malarkey. And if she thinks I’m going to fall for this quiet business, she has another think coming…Someone has to protect her from postmen and pigeons! I may have to develop a bit of selective amnesia….
Still, I might let her off… their new book has loads about me in it… no photos of me though which I think, myself, I should have insisted on. They do admit how much they have learned from me though so I don’t suppose I can complain too much. Wonder when the gold-plated bone will arrive?