In Her Next Life She'll Choose To Be A Husky
It's really rather pathetic. She'll whine at the door or window, we'll let her out. She'll step out, turn around, and then flatten us in her need to get back to where the heat lives.
Now, this would be fine if she were like us, only needing to step outside to go from warm building to warm car to warm house, but she has steadfastly refused to be sensible like the humans and the cat and find a socially acceptable way to eliminate indoors.
She will dash out and pee in a matter of milliseconds (which is just dandy for the person at the door, but she has issues when it comes to pooping. See, she has a ritual she must perform that involves a complex dance of sniffing, pacing, turning, sniffing, and then finally trotting purposefully to her poop area 'round the side of the house and over by the little trees. This takes time, people.
The time honored one of 'holding it'.
And 'holding it'.
Finally, yesterday, the temperature was a balmy +10, so she and I tromped out to shovel snow (me) and romp (her). It was like she'd spent the last week cooped up inside the house, being taunted by the snow. Which she had. The joy! The glee! The pooping! She laid 3 very large piles in the space of 20 minutes.
Now that HAD to feel good.
Labels: The Furry Ones