By Mickey Dunaway

It was 10:00 a.m. and I was back in my office at the iMac. Sandy was at the hairdresser. Boomer and Chloe were in the den. Soon, both Boomer and Chloe came to visit to make sure I was around if they needed me to get them a treat. Not an unusual set of circumstances.

I was just about to begin a bit of net-surfing when Chloe came bouncing in again. Chloe always bounces. Her bounce, we have concluded, comes from her championship days in the confirmation ring. I thought maybe she was back to see me because I had been on the phone with my brother talking football when she visited before. She was more than a bit peeved. She eased over and put her head on my knee, and when I didn’t respond, she put her front feet in my lap. Not unlike Boomer, but very unlike the little missy.

So I got up, and she headed into the den and toward the sunroom. I paused to check on her water, but she had some. We continued on to the sunroom, and at the backdoor, where stood her son, Boomer.

Chloe and Boomer had conspired to lead me down the garden path. And I fell totally for their canine sneakiness.

Damn Brittanys.

_________

I let them out and stood and watched as they fooled around with no discernable nature’s duty to take care of. So I called them back inside, gave them a treat, and sat down at the laptop on the bar—I was not going back to my office again and give these two geniuses a chance to conspire one more time to demonstrate how much smarter than me they are.

It didn’t matter.  Shortly after I sat down, my MacBook had not even entered my Amazon password when Chloe eased up to me at the bar, bumped me with her head, and when I didn’t respond, she gave me her best stink-eye. 

I am used to the stink-eye from Boomer—it is his favorite weapon when I watch TV at night.  I was warned about the Brittany stink-eye from dog trainer and friend Barb Eudy soon after I brought Boomer home six years ago. However, I thought that surely this weapon was below her ladyship Chloe’s dignity. I was wrong, so I got up—AGAIN—and followed her to the back door again. And there is Boomer waiting again. I don’t know how he got back there without my seeing him, but Boomer can be as stealthy-quiet as snow falling which is a good trait for a bird-dog, but damn frustrating for a bird-dog owner.

Consequently, I let them out again, shut the back door, and under my breath whispered that Boomer could let himself back in when he was good and ready.  By the way, Boomer can open doors.  I stood at the door for a minute or two to just see what these two schemers were going to do. They looked back at me and then lay down on the grass for a nice mid-morning summer snooze—and, I swear, had smiles on their faces.

Back to the laptop, and 20 minutes later Boomer opened the back door, and he and Chloe headed over to their water dish, which I dutifully filled while they lounged in their backyard.

Damn Brittanys!