I swear that dog understands every word I say. After a rather long line of predecessors, Seamus seems to have embodied all of the good traits of those that came before him …or, I’m slipping into dotage and letting my mind run amuck with interpretations of looks, sounds and, my conscience.
Seamus doesn’t want for much; he expects things. Take the frozen yogurt made with bananas, “She Who Must Be Obeyed” prepares for him in small cup-like containers she freezes both at home and at the cabin. If he doesn’t get it daily, he becomes so impatient he makes a nuisance of himself until I put him outside or give in. (You figure out which usually happens.)
Almost every morning, I wake up to his staring at me with his face about a foot from mine. If I close my eyes after he sees them open, he inches closer and strokes my face with his paw until I respond. Then its fifteen minutes of being scratched and rubbed until he inches his way into a position that lets me scratch his backside. Every morning.
“She Who Must Be Obeyed” turns our house into a Christmas Village, complete with artifacts collected over 45 years of marriage. Everything from a Christmas Tree to stockings hung on the mantel (Seamus has one too), to poems written by family members. There are things hung on every door, figurines on every table, a Nativity setting with handmade figurines and lots of lights strung everywhere.
Seamus likes it all. He sniffs, nudges things with his nose and grabs things when he wants someone to pay attention to him. He never breaks anything, he just grabs an item and runs through the house until he’s caught, then rolls over on his back, exposing his belly, waiting for a scratch.
He knows when he’s being talked about and he knows when he’s being ignored; and we learned a long time ago, life is easier when he’s included in some way.
I guess, that’s as human a characteristic there is.