Dopey Dog, At Home or Abroad

It’s early morning and quiet. Son and Daughter have left for school, Husband has headed to the office. I’m sipping my coffee and working on a writing project. Oli is in his usual spot, sitting on the back of the couch in the front room. Looking through the sheer curtains, watching and listening for signs of life on the sidewalk and street beyond. His little body tensed, on full alert.

Suddenly the stillness is shattered by Oli’s barking. For a little guy, he has a very loud and somewhat deep bark. He makes enough noise to convince people that we have a pack of rabid dogs in the house, ready to tear to shreds any who dare to enter.

Now I love the dog very much. Cutest little guy, very protective. But he is clearly not Mensa material. When someone walks by our house, he barks and runs to the front door, getting trapped between doors in our little foyer. (The second door, albeit a swinging one, is too heavy for him to push open. He has tried, he’s not entirely clueless.) This happens at least a dozen times a day. Are you kidding me?!?

He’s stuck again.

Yesterday afternoon he was snoozing on the couch when he heard the┬ápostman. Fearing an attack upon hearth and home, he had to take up his defensive position while barking ferociously. Dude, it’s just the postman. You know, the guy who pushes letters through the mail slot most days. Not Barbarians storming the castle walls…


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