Morning Instinct

This morning — because I didn’t want to wake up when the dogs did — Bear instinctively destroyed a former bathroom rug that had been doing late-life duty as a mud collector.

“Instinct tells me that if I finally shred this, she will get up and feed us.” That had to have been the message she was getting from her canine language center, “Tear up rug = Let me out. I have to pee.”

“I don’t see the logic,” Dusty must have answered (telepathically). “She can’t even see you and how is tearing up a rug going to open the back door?”

“Whatever, Bear. She’ll get up. She always does. I’ll just do a body slam against her bedroom door to be sure,” said Mindy, less telepathically.

“Maybe we could wrestle. If that doesn’t work, I’ll get my squeaky ball,” Bear threw herself down on the floor.

Meanwhile, I was dreaming that I was on an amazing long hike along the eastern side of a volcanic cone that looked like Mt. Shasta. The dogs were with me, but after the long — I mean 100 miles or so — trek, and I was home again, only Mindy had returned with me. So there I was in my dream, completing some kind of art project and once in a while yelling out the window, “Dusty! Bear!

When Dusty appeared, he acted like he’d done something wrong. In my dream I said, not telepathically, “You’re a good boy, Dusty. I missed you! Where’s Bear?”

Some woman — no one I know — was trying to get me to go for lunch but I said, “I dunno. If Dusty is here, Bear can’t be far behind.” But I wasn’t sure of that.

Out in the real world (the living room) Mindy rearranged herself forcefully against my door; Bear woofed instinctively at the prey (the rug) she had reduced to maroon filaments attached to bits of rubber; Dusty waited faithfully knowing that soon I would get up, I would let them out, I would make my coffee, I would feed them breakfast.

10 thoughts on “Morning Instinct

  1. They do have definitely plans. Sometimes we have a little trouble figuring out where they are coming from, but I am sure they have something in mind.

    Long time ago when we had two dogs and lived in a condo in Boston, when they had to go, they really HAD to go. They would whine a little.


    Eventually they figured out that Garry can’t hear, so Divot would jump on Garry’s chest, stick her muzzle in his face and bark ferociously. That definitely worked.

  2. Sounds like a conspiracy to me. Don’t let them near your keyboard and computer, they will be taking over – dogs first, second and third.

  3. We used to keep our bedroom door closed because Teem would jump on the bed and stare at my husband. I thought it was a riot; my husband, not so much. Kitty used to shoulder our door until I would just get up and let her in. She wasn’t fooled–she knew we were in there. Animals are so darn smart. Yours are a riot.

  4. Martha, have you cleared this piece with Homeland Security? I suspect our furry kids are agents. Deep cover agents. Bonnie and Gibbs like to “play” me late at night, switching places to test my eye sight and brains. Bonnie grins if they are successful. Sometimes, Marilyn and I catch the kids sitting together on the couch, looking at us and then at each other. We know something is amiss.

    • Since the mice invasions (two of them, months apart) Bear has developed (with Dusty) a stragedy that she has reasoned could lead to a cookie. In the evening, if I’m watching a movie, she will send a message to Dusty and they will both get up and rush (thundering, they’re large dogs) to the kitchen and act like they’ve seen/heard a mouse.

      But I’m not fooled because 1) they’ve never caught a mouse, 2) I have other ways of knowing if a mouse has gotten in or not, and 3) they either come running back to me OR stay in front of the cabinet behind which are cookies. Their job now is to figure out what they’re doing wrong and perfect their ruse so it’s believable.

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