Me: *setting up the cleaning drone while the dog looks on suspiciously* Relax, Isa. I’m just having it do a little spot cleaning, not Spot cleaning, so it’s not going to chase you.
L’s Mother: *starts laughing uncontrollably*
Me: Your day’s been that hard, huh?
(Like I’ve said before, I just make the jokes, I don’t laugh at them.)
Little dog, I know there are times you can’t help but be under foot, and I know you don’t understand the harshness in my voice when I tell you to move sometimes, but let the record reflect that harshness is in my voice because I’m carrying something that if I dropped it on you, would kill you dead.
In the parlance of my youth, “roll a saving throw, you’re still dead!”
Sometimes I wonder why my dog is just staring at me.
I suspect she doesn’t want to miss it in case I spontaneously decide to give her an extra meal.
In the midst of the chaos of the approaching end of the school year, I heard our dog, Isa, yipping her “Hey!” bark from the family room. Curious, I stuck my head in because she usually only yips like that when she wants someone to open a door for her.
It turns out L. had dropped two pieces of cereal on the couch out of her reach, and while Isa is capable of jumping up on the couch, the floor in front of it is slick enough for her that she doesn’t like to make the attempt after some embarrassing nose-bonking failures.
So she was asking for help like the unapologetic chowhound that she is.
The other day our dog wouldn’t stop barking because we’d gotten a delivery, so I told her, “Isa, stop barking at the delivery! I know it’s here, I’m getting it now, so you can stop telling me it’s here.”
When I opened the door, I saw the package was for L’s Mother from a place called “Katz,” and I didn’t even try to resist. I turned back to the dog (who was still barking), and told her, “Isa, stop barking at Katz!”
“Do you know where Miss Eat-n-arf is?” my son asked earlier today, thus revealing to me the secret identity of Social Distancing Dog.
On a lighter note, Social Distancing Dog continues to be diligent in her patrols of our home’s perimeter, and while I admire her sense of duty, our “strange puppy from another kennel” needs better control over her “sonic alert” power.
The basic idea of Isa (our dog) is easy. You just need fur and a stomach.
– Today’s drive-by observation from my son, L. (age 9)
Yesterday I decided that our dog, Isa, isn’t an otherwise mild-mannered pup with the annoying habit of barking whenever someone is within six feet (or farther) of our front door. She is, in fact . . . SOCIAL DISTANCING DOG!
This morning I awoke to find an “unexpected present” from the dog outside the bedroom door.
“Bad dog!” I scolded her, prompting L and his Mother to scurry over.
“No, no!” they protested. “It’s not real! It’s just a prank!”
“Really?” I sighed. “You two knew I didn’t sleep well last night, and you still thought this was going to be funny! There had better not be any other ‘surprises’ in store for me today, because as far as *I* am concerned, there is NO April Fools’ Day around me.”
I let my words (and the accompanying disappointment) sink in for a just moment before unleashing a flurry of tickles on my son. “Gotcha!” I chuckled. “April Fools!”
Candles & Curses 