My Dog: The Big Fat Faker

Since we moved to an apartment, I’ve tried to get Toto on a schedule. A pee schedule. He’s not cooperating. Too used to being let outside in our fenced in backyard whenever he had to go or, more often than not, when he was bored.

Just yesterday:

Toto: Stands up from his bed, walks a few feet to the middle of the front room, turns, stares at me.

Me: (Takes a bite of Cocoa Krispies, keeps eyes on TV) Not right now.

Toto: Whines, lays down, stares at me

Me: (Continues to eat while watching Angel, Season 2 Episode 22) I just took you out not less than an hour ago. You can wait a bit.

Toto: Stands up, whines again, moves a bit closer to where I’m sitting, continues to stare

Me: Five more minutes, Bird. I’m almost done.

Toto: Moves closer, makes this weird whining/coughing/barking noise

Me: Dude! I’m eating cereal. Do you know what will happen if I take you out right now? The Krispies will turn into mushy little bits of grossness that I won’t be able to eat.

Toto: Jumps on the couch, licks my hand

Me: You just went out and can’t possibly be about to pee your little doggie pants. (Sidenote: He’s not really wearing pants. At least not today.)

Toto: Licks my hand again

Me: (Exhales in frustration, sets bowl down) Fine. Let’s go.

Toto: Ears perk, jumps off the couch, runs to the door.

Me: (Walks a leashed Toto outside, follows him around for five, yes FIVE!, minutes while he watches two squirrels chase each other up a large tree, stands at attention while a neighbor gets into her car, and sniffs the ground for a ridiculous amount of time before peeing.) You’re kind of a little shit, Toto. You know that don’t you?

 

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