My human’s life isn’t complicated. I’m sure the Geezer might disagree with me; you know how human’s are always whining. He let’s the littlest things interfere with his life and my fun. Let me share a couple of examples with you.
Before he left on his tour, leaving me and Mrs. G here to boot for ourselves, he had one of those minor problems that he lets control his activities. He bent over to pick up a spoon off of the floor. When he straightened up, I’ve never heard so much wailing. Not even my cat half-bro Oreo makes screams like that when he gets his tail caught under the rollers on a chair or in my teeth. “Aaaaggggghhhhh!…Oh shit! Not before my trip!” the old boy screamed.
I’m not swearing this is true, but I thought I heard Mrs. G asking him about doing a few chores before he left. You should have seen him. He was bent over from the waist, staring at the ground like he was hunting for fishing worms. This guy should have won the Oscar for portrayal of an ambulance case. Excuses, excuses.
In the off chance that the Geezer wasn’t acting, it just proves another thing we canines and most of the rest of the animal world knows…four legs are better than two. We dogs don’t need chiropractors, surgeons, or Ben-Gay. Guess what…there was no game of “get it” that day. (That’s when a trained human throws a ball so we canines can get it.)
Another example happened today. Mind you, this was his first day back. I was raring to go for our walk. a walk I’d missed for 12 days. The sun rose, but my human didn’t. That’s very unusual. He normally stumbles from his bed around 4:30 each morning, mumbles a string of unintelligible words and staggers to the coffee maker. There he concocts the vile blackened water he’s so fond of drinking, something I’d say would be more fitting as a punishment than a daily high-point.
When he was still prone in his bed as the first rays of light illuminated his gray hair, I decided to get him moving. A long stripe of fresh dog-slobber applied with my raspy tongue applied cheek to cheek awakens the dead. Sure enough, the Geezer’s eyes opened a tiny bit. He mumbled something I didn’t understand and rolled over so his face was turned away from me. The Geezer was going to be difficult. I hopped up on the bed, stood over him and reapplied the slobber. He repeated the response clear enough for me to understand this time. He said, “I got jet-lag, let me sleep.”
Can you believe that! He believes he got sick from riding in a jet plane. I wonder what “jet bacteria” looks like under a microscope. No amount of poking, licking or pawing could get him up to take me on my walk. If excuses were money there isn’t a human that’s ever been born that wouldn’t be insanely rich.