Monday, October 22, 2012

Who's the Boss?

Sometimes I have to seriously stop and ask myself that question. Who’s the boss? Me or Lydia?  I can see all of you already owned by furry four-footed housemates smirking. Lydia of course.
One niece says that Lydia is my sidekick. It’s more than that. I think she wants to stick close to make sure this servant does what she’s supposed to, when she’s supposed to. And somehow, our time schedules seldom mesh.

This is way past open the door, close the door, open the door….This entails arguments. Usually about food.  I heard that small dogs tended to be picky eaters.  Ha! No one shared that with Lydia, my 65 pound Boxer. Dry dog food is the stuff that goes into a cube she can knock around for entertainment. She does eat what flies out. Why this tastes better than when it’s put on her dish I have no idea. Certain brands she refuses to touch. Dry or wet.  My brother’s dog has been the happy recipient of many of Lydia’s dislikes. She does like people food – mostly. But there are some things she won’t eat there, either. Once, she seemed to have an upset tummy and wasn’t interested in any food, dog or people. Then I started cooking taco filling. That, she was interested in. Put a little on her plate and she lapped it up. Weird dog.

Also a weird vocabulary for a dog. Hungry, she understands. That’s not so strange. What drives me insane is that she understands cooking is related to food and is related to hungry. Seriously. If I tell her I have to cook she sits in her one particular waiting for food spot and waits for it. If  it’s taking longer than she thinks it should, she comes to investigate. Wants to make sure I’m staying on task. If  I take something from the oven, and she wants it, she sits in the middle of the kitchen floor and waits for it. The other day it was cornbread. I gave her a corner of a piece of my cornbread. She loved it. I was done eating and went back to the family room. I heard barking in the kitchen. Sure enough, there was Lydia, standing in front of the stove where I had placed the pan of corn bread. She wanted more.

These furry companions are a lot of fun, but they sure are bossy things.  I always wondered why there were pictures of people, with their dogs at their feet. Now I get it. It’s like looking at the toddler when they’re clean and tucked in bed and could not have possibly wreaked havoc around the house, even if they did. That is moment they look adorable. Animals too. When they’re laying so nicely you don’t remember that they have been places where they shouldn’t be or have driven you crazy playing doorman, or personal chef. Every once in a while, I pretend I’m the boss, but I know how this really goes.  Who’s boss in your house?

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