This is the second time Ghost has been forced to come and stay with LB and me since moving out to the Wonderful, Magical Place where S&L exist to clean his quarters and bring him smoked pork sausage wrapped in cheese or some damn thing.
Ghost is staying at the Lair now and causing no trouble, but he wishes it to be known that this is not his home. In fact the whole thing is so obviously beneath his lofty standards that it hardly requires comment.
Yesterday during morning walky he peeled off and disappeared, and I figured he probably went back home and I’d have to go pry him off S&L’s porch. But he did eventually come back to the Lair, went directly underneath without comment, and stayed outdoors until the afternoon thunder rumbles. Ghost is afraid of thunder offended by loud noises intruding upon his august meditations.
Then he went along with afternoon walkies, found dinner barely digestible, and went out again until twilight. He never more than glanced at me the whole time. For all practical purposes, except during meal and scary times like thunderstorms and night, he has moved under the Lair.
This is more than mildly offensive. If it was something as simple as dogsitting somebody else’s dog for a week, I would understand and put up with it cheerfully. But Ghost lived with me for most of his life. He is capable of at least faking affection. I’ve seen him do it. When Landlady comes for a weekend visit, he stays with her very happily. He likes Landlady. But for the most part, I’ve never been more than the nanny to him.
Maybe what’s pissing me off about it is that most of my human relationships have ended up the same way, which leads me to wonder if it isn’t something I’ve done wrong. I know that’s the case with the humans, there’s no point in denying it. Nobody ends up a hermit in the desert because of his great people skills.
Hell. At least LB still likes me.
“Hell. At least LB still likes me.”
For now.
Don’t feel too bad. I see a couple of things. One, Ghost likes women better than men. The other might be he is what my dad called a one-person dog. I was raised around a couple of them. The last one my folks had was really my sister’s dog. She left home; Dad feed, watered, and basically cared for the dog. But when my sister came by the house, the dog turned itself wrong-side out with joy to see her and Dad didn’t exist for however long she was there.
I wouldn’t necessarily take the dog’s opinions to heart. It’s kind of like kids who prefer the parent who spoils them over the parent who’s the provider, teacher and disciplinarian. Our dog is currently pouting and glaring at me because I went out and didn’t take her TWICE today. Terrible me.
And anyway, I think it’s sort of a given that we hermit types are an acquired taste. The good news is that the older I get the less I care.
“At least LB still likes me.”
The last few years I’ve deciding to settle for “tolerating me”. Much easier. I’m gonna go drink to excess now.