You ask me about my Upright. Let me start by saying I think all their problems come from being two-legged Uprights. Have you ever tried to walk on two legs? Painful. Whatever made them do it?
Still my Upright is good to me. The dish, ah the dish. As soon as I hear, “There’s something in your dish,” I’m out to the kitchen. Dish, the magic word. It used to be just the kibble, ok but boring after a while. Then one day, a little piece of juicy chicken on top and some carrot. Another day a bit of potato and a piece of a fish. I could smell it from the den where I was stretched out on the couch. It wasn’t everyday though. But I got to thinking. If I didn’t eat that kibble, she would understand and put something delicious on it. It didn’t take me long and she was trained. Something every day. One day though, for some unknown reason there was nothing. I decided to wait it out. It was really hard. All that evening, through the dark, until the next day when the dark was coming again. But it worked. Beautiful chopped egg.
Then I noticed the portions getting some smaller. I would eat but my stomach growled. So I would go into the den where she sat and sit down right in front of her and give her my stare and purse my lips and give a new little moan. It works. Always a little something more, usually one of those lamb biscuits, my favourite.
I like the couch. Just the one in the den. I don’t know why the other one is “Off.” Sometimes I stretch out on my back and I feel so relaxed. I let me head flop to the side and punch my front paws into the air. And I love to splay my back legs out. “You are a shameless dog,” she says, laughing. I have no idea what she is getting at but then she comes and gives me a belly rub. Nothing feels better.
Sometimes when I am in the house, I can hear the squirrels jump from the roof to the birdfeeder and I run to the window and give them a good barking. I don’t know why she doesn’t bark at the squirrels. She’s really missing out.
In the night-time, we sit in the den and look at the big window on the table. There are always dogs and more dogs to see though they never hear me when I rush to the window and put my face right on it. I even know the names of two who come around all the time. She will say, “Alfred’s here or your friend Sikes.” As soon as I hear their names, I’m there if I’m in another room. There are other creatures, some I know like squirrels and ducks or horses, and others that look big and strange. I’m not really interested.
Nothing beats a walk. She lets me sniff. I have heard there are dogs that don’t get to sniff. Nothing beats a walk except a ride to the place with the horses. As soon as we get there, she opens the door and says, “Go wild.” I can run as far as the woods, roll over in my favourite smell pits, sometimes jump in the pond, play with three other dogs, and try to get the cat’s food. I have found the horse leaves some dropping in his stall and I’ve eaten a piece. That gets me a big, “bad dog.” I know what that means but I don’t understand really.
At night when we cuddle in the den, she will say. “Little dog, I love you so much.” More unclear words but it always gives me a warm and safe feeling.
