Thursday 15 July 2010

every. time.

i give Sam yummy stick of chewing. he chews the chew with deep concentration as i prepare for bed, dress down, tuck under...
...and then he races down the stairs, and back up again, and comes to the bedroom door, whimpering in a pityful way.
"what do you want, lummox?" i ask, affectionately. not that i need to. it's clear what he wants.

i get up, trudge down the stairs, and open the door into the rainy garden, which Sam enters like a bullet. the garden he'd shown no interest in in the many hours before bedtime. i watch him disappear into the darkness, and settle down to wait.

why do i fall for it every time? he surely doesn't need to "do" anything out there, all he wants to do is play in the rain with all his chew stick energy, and perhaps "reward" me with some rainswept evening entertainment.

but i'd bet that if i one night decided to ignore his request, he'd have an accident some way or another. because that's just the kind of dog he is.