For all his vaunted independence and his demonstrated preference for spending weekends elsewhere, Ghost is still a dog. And dogs are froods who like to know where their towel is.
Ever since he moved in with me, Ghost has always been the one who needs to be first out the door in the morning. He doesn’t want petting or any sort of attention, just open the damn door. (LB is exactly the opposite. He can be ready to explode, but he won’t go anywhere until I assure him he’s just the most wonderful thing that ever was.)
Ghost rushes out the door without a glance at me. He heads straight for the brush, where I don’t know precisely what he does but it always involves a lot of barking. Ten or fifteen minutes later he’s equally urgent about coming back in, and this time I am required by statute to make a big fuss over him. He dances and grins and pants for maybe thirty seconds – and then he wants right back out again and I may not see him for an hour, unless it’s raining or really cold.
Every damn day. The only exceptions are certain weekends when he has detected the presence of Landlady or S&L, at which times he’ll disappear without notice and I have to figure it out for myself. It’s just part of our blessed routine.
Fortunately for me, I like routine too. It’s not as though I’m offered a choice. I never really wonder who’s in charge around here.
Fortunately, ‘Under Control’ is not necessary (or even compatible) with ‘Cool and Froody’.