16 June 2009

serenades in my house

I've been having insomnia issues lately and have been staying up later then usual. It annoys little man in a huge way, mostly because the living room is, for all intensive purposes, his bedroom. So if I stay up late, so does he.

And he's already had a somewhat trying evening.

There has been much pacing and trotting and jumping against cabinets. And singing. Oh my, the singing.

I had no idea his voice could go so high (I apologized for the neutering that occurred when he was a puppy) and its been non-stop. He sort of warbles like he's being jiggled about. Its strange.

So what has him so worked up?


Today is garbage day and the bananas were looking rather sorry so into bread they went. Apparently Dooley feels that it is heaven and baked especially for him and is, at this very moment while I type this, sitting in the kitchen guarding it.

This is what he looked like when he got a taste a few minutes ago:

Yes its blurry. He wouldn't stop moving. In fact, I hear him clawing the cabinets right now. He has sang to it, he has danced for it, he has performed every trick in his repertoire and is determined that the entire loaf shall be his.

I half expect to walk downstairs tomorrow morning and find an elaborate pile of objects built just high enough to be almost level with the kitchen counter.

And one incredibly stuffed and satisfied westie snoring in the middle of the floor.

Oh how he wishes.


Yarnhog said...

Oh, yeah. That's what I see every time I cook. Only doubled, with one head at counter height, and lots of drool puddling on the floor.

FunkyC said...

Good Grief. He's a spasm. My dog thinks all food is her God given right. Of course, she also thinks she's a person.

mary said...

sam acts that way when he sees the following:
the rice container
a taco bell bag(LOVES soft tacos)
a lunchmeat bag

weird dog
but he's mine!

Kim Hambric said...

MMMMMM, wish someone would bake me some banana bread. So does my dog. But then again, he would eat anything, so I don't even have to go the trouble to bake. I just dropped a Chapstik and he went for it. Recently, a small guest dropped a large bracelet. For a while, we thought he ate it. Apparently it did not meet his taste requirements (which are way low), so he spit it out under a piece of furniture. Rocks, however, must taste better. He eats those. Now, freshly baked rocks might be a huge treat.