Foxibeau looking out the window / Alison R. I wouldn’t be posting on my mom’s blog if she hadn’t slacked off. I have only been here one month but in that time I don’t remember her being this laid back. Lazy isn’t a nice word so let’s just say she is taking this “no deadline” thing a little too far, in my opinion.
Luckily, I still get walked more than once a day. I am not eager to make “mistakes” in the house. It would spoil my reputation as a perfect pet, which is how I like to think of myself.
All in all, I have no complaints about the way she takes care of me, although I would like to be fed more than twice a day. But with no real control over my appetite, twice a day is probably right. Once in a while, she bribes me with kibble to get me into the crate when she goes out. I go a little mad with joy each time I hear that bag rattle, so I must have an eating disorder. I noticed that she ate an entire pint of pistachio ice cream the other day. I didn’t get to lick the spoon once.
While I am in a confessing mood, I will admit to being a dog with a growl reflex. It’s the elevator that starts it off. I don’t go into full bark mode unless people get off on this floor and talk in the corridor. It is inconsiderate of them to think no one is in hearing range. Barking reminds them they are not alone in the building. I get reprimanded for barking. They don’t get in trouble for loud talking. How is that fair?
Another thing about me is that I am not as friendly as I am cute. Other dogs have to pass a test before I can be polite to them. It’s impossible to say what that test is, exactly. Maybe I just like or don’t like certain animals. That is certainly true about people. We have a lot of sleeping bodies on our walking route. They are all right as long as they stay on the ground under their cardboard, but if they suddenly move or stand up, I instinctively bristle and strain to get away. This could be the result of being a stray before Animal Control took me off the street to take care of me. Having been uncared for early, I might have PTSD – Puppy Tension Syn-Drome.
Something I noticed this week that was uncharacteristic of my mom is her rearranging the furniture and hanging her paintings in different places. I heard her tell someone that she had a new felt sense of safety. I don’t see the connection between rearranging your own furniture and feeling safe. Who would have complained? A word she said a lot this past week was “Agency.” Is there a connection between that and interior decoration? She seemed happy because she has not rethought the room or its contents for a long time. I think if she feels like she now has agency, I may be affected sometime. She has been moving my crate from room to room without seeming too excited. I plan to take a wait-and-see attitude. I am still allowed on the couch, so that is good.
While some of her new behavior has been unpredictable, I can still count on her to feed me, put me in my red harness to walk the neighborhood throughout the day and even after dark. Often we go to the park. I am stroked, cuddled, talked to and allowed to use the computer when I get the urge. Please bear with my mom while she takes this deadline cleanse. Thank you for your time.
Luckily, I still get walked more than once a day. I am not eager to make “mistakes” in the house. It would spoil my reputation as a perfect pet, which is how I like to think of myself.
All in all, I have no complaints about the way she takes care of me, although I would like to be fed more than twice a day. But with no real control over my appetite, twice a day is probably right. Once in a while, she bribes me with kibble to get me into the crate when she goes out. I go a little mad with joy each time I hear that bag rattle, so I must have an eating disorder. I noticed that she ate an entire pint of pistachio ice cream the other day. I didn’t get to lick the spoon once.
While I am in a confessing mood, I will admit to being a dog with a growl reflex. It’s the elevator that starts it off. I don’t go into full bark mode unless people get off on this floor and talk in the corridor. It is inconsiderate of them to think no one is in hearing range. Barking reminds them they are not alone in the building. I get reprimanded for barking. They don’t get in trouble for loud talking. How is that fair?
Another thing about me is that I am not as friendly as I am cute. Other dogs have to pass a test before I can be polite to them. It’s impossible to say what that test is, exactly. Maybe I just like or don’t like certain animals. That is certainly true about people. We have a lot of sleeping bodies on our walking route. They are all right as long as they stay on the ground under their cardboard, but if they suddenly move or stand up, I instinctively bristle and strain to get away. This could be the result of being a stray before Animal Control took me off the street to take care of me. Having been uncared for early, I might have PTSD – Puppy Tension Syn-Drome.
Something I noticed this week that was uncharacteristic of my mom is her rearranging the furniture and hanging her paintings in different places. I heard her tell someone that she had a new felt sense of safety. I don’t see the connection between rearranging your own furniture and feeling safe. Who would have complained? A word she said a lot this past week was “Agency.” Is there a connection between that and interior decoration? She seemed happy because she has not rethought the room or its contents for a long time. I think if she feels like she now has agency, I may be affected sometime. She has been moving my crate from room to room without seeming too excited. I plan to take a wait-and-see attitude. I am still allowed on the couch, so that is good.
While some of her new behavior has been unpredictable, I can still count on her to feed me, put me in my red harness to walk the neighborhood throughout the day and even after dark. Often we go to the park. I am stroked, cuddled, talked to and allowed to use the computer when I get the urge. Please bear with my mom while she takes this deadline cleanse. Thank you for your time.
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