Jan. 17, 2016

To: Beau

From: aggravated and hungry Alpha

Subject: yours vs. mine

I believe it must be time to go over some of the house rules that you seem to be having trouble with.  I'm choosing to think that you've just forgotten the rules since the alternative is  that you're deliberately ignoring them.  Yesterday, you had a problem with taking food off of the counter.  Actually, it wasn't a problem for you, but it certainly was a problem for me. You've also gotten quite adept at making me drop things you'd like to eat. 

Please refer to the attached photo.  In case you don't recognize it, those are 2 slabs of bacon that I made for today's family brunch.  As you know, it takes a week to make scratch bacon.  It has to cure for several days and then smoking it takes another day.  And yes, it does smell quite delicious while it's smoking.  Don't think I didn't see all of you drooling at the smoker.  I admit to drooling a bit myself. And then it has to cool before it can be sliced and packaged.  I chose to let it cool on the back of the stove before putting it in the fridge.  And you chose to pull it down onto the floor.  Even though I was in the living room which is just about 20 feet from the kitchen, you managed to take a pretty big bite before I could get there and rescue the bacon. All of the others were coming at a dead run from various parts of the house to help you eat both slabs. I did manage to get it picked up relatively intact, although it picked up quite a bit of hair in the short time it was on the floor.  I don't understand why there was that much hair on the floor, I had just vacuumed, swept and mopped the floor less than an hour before this incident.  

If you look closely at the photo, you can see there's still more hair that needs to be picked off before I can serve this, or even cook it for that matter.  Lucky for you, the kids all grew up with long haired dogs and don't freak out when they find the occasional hair.  If I'd invited friends to join us, I'd be in trouble.  Or rather, you'd be more trouble than you already are.

In part, I blame myself.  If I had thought about the fact that you're tall enough to put your paws on my shoulders when you stand on your hind legs I might have cooled the bacon on top of the refrigerator. Hell, I can hardly reach up there myself.  But I foolishly assumed that you were good at following the rules.  It would be easier to just let this go if it was an isolated occurence, but unfortunatly, that's not the case.  

I don't have photos of the other food things that have happened over the past few days, so I'll go over them to refresh your memory.  You took my taco salad off of the counter and ate it.  It was a really good salad, I had to go to Roth's to get the crispy delicious bowl and I was very much looking forward to eating it, but I wound up with a bowl of cereal instead of a bowl of fried goodness.  You ate the meatballs with marinara sauce that I had made for my dinner.  I know that the sauce is practically irristable, but come on, it was my dinner, you'd already had yours.  That night I had toast with peanut butter for dinner which is nothing at all like meatballs.  But by far, your most clever move was walking in front of me when I was carrying my potpie on a plate to the table.  Slid right off on to the floor and splattered all over. I'm petty enough to hope that you scalded your mouth on that one.  It was nice of all the other dogs to make sure that all the stray splatters were cleaned up though.  Oh, and in case you've forgotten, I didn't even bother with dinner that night.  Unless 3 cookies count as dinner. I'm trying to make better nutritional choices these days, but you're making it awfully hard to do that.

The point I'm trying to make here is that you know the rules and I expect you and all of the other guys to follow them.  Unless I offer you some of what I'm eating or put it in your bowl, the food is exclusively mine.  Not yours.  You are not, under any circumstances to help yourself to anything on the counter, the stove, or the table.  If you come across a plate with food on it and there's no one around, just walk away.  The others all look up to you, you're setting a bad example. Everyone is starting to get a little pushy about whatever I'm eating.  Except the Weiners of course, they've always been pushy.  

I've posted a copy of the rules on the fridge.  I put it down where you can easily read it. By the end of the week, I expect you to be able to recite all of the rules from memory, so you'd all better be practicing while I'm at work.  And please don't let Steve eat the paper like he did the last time I posted the rules.  

Jan. 17, 2016

Dear Dogs,

We're going to have a meeting after dinner tonight.  As always, attendance is mandatory. That means you have to be there; one of the things we'll be discussing is vocabulary. Having a bigger vocabulary will help you when you interview for a job - Steve.  But the main topic will be personal space, in particular, mine.  I'm including some workbooks for you to go over while I'm at work today.  We'll talk about them during the meeting.

I love that you're all so happy to see me when I've been gone, like when I go to work. Or go out to the store, or when I come back inside from the garage, or when I get out of the shower, or when I come back upstairs when I'm doing the laundry.  The list goes on, (and on, and on, and on....).  The point is, your enthusiasm makes me feel very loved.  But you're practically loving me death.

You know how I usually end the day by watching a little TV?  We're currently watching "Hannibal" in case you forgot the name of the show.  Steve, I'm sorry that you find the show too scary, but there are only so many times I can watch "All Dogs Go To Heaven".  I like having you guys cuddle up with me, but you're going to have to start taking turns sitting with/on me; you can't all be in the chair with me at the same time. Last night I think you might have ruptured my spleen a little, and I may have a couple of cracked rigs. I really have trouble breathing when you bunch up around my neck and  sit on my chest.  I also think it's bad for me to inhale so much dog hair when you lay against my face. If you think that covering up my head so that I can't see the TV (or breathe) is going to make me look for something else to watch so that you'll all get off of me, you're mistaken.  If you don't care for the show we're watching, please don't smother me in an attempt to make me change the channel.  And don't take the remote and try to pick another show for yourselves.  That always goes badly, it took me 2 hours to reprogram the remote after the last incident, and none of you can agree on what to watch anyway.

Smith and Wesson, you have to stop being so smug about having a permanent place on my lap. And please stop telling everyone else that it's a sign of my loving you more than everyone else.  It's actually because you're small and old.  I'll remind the others that they're squishing you as well as me when they pile on, so refrain from trying to bite everyone that sits on top of you. And please stop suggesting that things would be easier if I re-home everyone but you. Rest assured I'm doing everything that I can do to make sure that you survive the nightly cuddle.  I do admit that it's amusing to hear your muffled growls when it gets really tight under the pile. My laughter doesn't mean I'm encouraging the other dogs to sit on us harder than they already do. I'm sure there must be some kind of equation to figure out how everyone's mass increases when they get on top of me, but I'll have to set aside time to do the math, I don't have the time when it's happening;  I'm too busy trying to breathe.

I've included a photographic example of all of this, please note that the only part of me that's visible in this picture is a bit of my leg covered in the jammies that have the "zany" (good vocabulary word Peep!) leopard print. We'll discuss all of this at the meeting tonight.  I might even serve snacks, there are a few things in the fridge that are in the "use or lose" category. Obviously I won't eat them before they go completely bad, but I'm sure you'll enjoy them.

xxoo,

Almost flat Alpha

ps: Steve, if you eat your workbook again, there will be consequences and they will involve The Ball.

Jan. 12, 2016

Me:  Steve, we need to talk.  Again.

Steve: *hangs head, says nothing*

Me: do you have any explanation for your choice of activities today?  Can you give me one good reason for ripping the box that was on the table?

Steve: I was trying to open it for you?

Me: I realize you were trying to open it, I was wondering why you thought it needed to be open. And please don't tell me you were trying to save me the trouble of opening it myself.  Do you even know what's in the box?  Your reading skills aren't really that good, were you guessing because of the picture on the box?

Steve: Smith told me what it says.  I thought there might be waffles inside the box.  I saw a picture of waffles.  I love waffles.

Me: did you smell any waffles in the box? Dogs are supposed to be able to smell all kinds of things that people can't, down to just a few molocules of something.

Steve: I didn't smell anything, but I couldn't be sure unless I checked. I thought if I got the box open we could make waffles for dinner.  We had a plan: I'd open the box, The White Dogs were going to get the pancake mix out of the pantry, Wesson was going to mix them up and I was going to cook them.  Pretty good idea, right? *wag, wag, wag*

Me: what was Smith going to do?

Steve: he said he's best at supervising.

Me:....... Was this your idea, or did the Weiners put you up to it?

Steve: I thought of it all by myself!

Me: that's a really sweet thought, but you know the rules on chewing things up.  I guess I should be happy you didn't get to the appliance inside the box.  It's made of plastic, and we all know about your plastic problem. 

Steve: I love waffles! Can we have waffles for dinner?

Me: ........*talking to myself* why do I even try to talk to this bozo? Steve, maybe on the weekend I'll make waffles, they're more of a weekend meal.

Steve: *speechless with joy, dancing*

Me: could all of you come in here please, we need to have a short meeting

Steve: c'mon everyone, we're going to make waffles!!!!