Saturday, January 19, 2013

The Actor

A couple of days ago I saw Gus, the dog who has previously been known as the "perfect pup" because he hates to misbehave and usually acts quite the gentleman, go from the bedroom into the living room.  Assuming he needed to go out to potty, I put down my book and followed him.

There was Gussie, as far under the grand piano as he could get, pooping.  It took me a second to realize exactly what he was up to.  He looked at me shocked -- and then I started to yell.  "What the Sam-hill do you think you're doing under there?" 

Luie fled the living room, tail tucked as far under a butt as a docked tail will go.  It's usually Luie who nonchalantly leaves me a "gift" under the piano.  Luie thinks if the urge hits, that urge should be satisfied immediately.  It's Gus who will go to the front door and warn you he needs to go outside.

Gus quickly righted himself -- after leaving quite a hefty deposit -- and scurried out of the living by hugging the sides of the inside wall.  I followed him yelling, "You naughty boy!  You are BAD!  BAD! BAD! BAD! I say BAD BOY!"

We have a small house and it took him only seconds to reach the hallway into the bedroom, whereupon he immediately began to hack and gurgle -- and then throw up.  And as he's doing it, he's looking over his shoulder at me, slyly.  He can't get much up, but he's made a little white spot of foam on the carpet. 

I come to a full stop, retrace my steps back into the living and get Luie's retractable leash.  Gus rushes into the bedroom and hides under the vanity -- which is open except for four slim legs, so he's easy to reach.  I yank him out and put the leash on and start dragging him to the front door -- and Gus immediately goes entirely lame in him back legs.  Neither leg will more.  I"m pulling, tugging, and Gus is being dragged to the door, his front legs moving but the back legs barely lifting from the floor.

Outside, he gets worse.  We stand in the front yard and he refused to move, head hanging down, back legs rigid, front paws curled under.  Now Gus is the dog that knows to walk off leash (Luie, being blind is always leashed).  Consequently his collar is a bit looser than Luie's. As soon as I tug on the leash, the entire collar slips off Gus's little head (with his help, of course, he's bowed it so it will come off) and Gus stands there, looking at me triumphantly, until he realizes the ruse is just about up.  I stuff that collar over his ears and back on his neck and yank him over to the big tree in our front yard, all the while muttering under my breath, about BAD, BAD boys.

Gus eventually lifts his leg and leaves a trace of pee on the tree and we march together back in the house.

Luie is standing listening, with a satisfied smile on his face (if a dog can said to smile) because finally Gus has been caught as the transgressor.  Gus, once the leash has been removed, is now fully capable of moving all four legs and he gallops into the bedroom and settles in comfort on his favorite blue pillow next to the heating vent.

Gus has had the sense in the last several days to behave himself even better than usual.  He comes immediately in the park -- but currently I don't have to call him because he's faithfully following Luie and me around, instead of doing his normal wander back and forth.  He's cuddling next to me in bed, giving me the big, sad eyed stare of love.

I have to admit, that I have had quite a laugh at how well "sweet" little Gus pulled his "act" of "not - my - fault - because - I'm - a sickly - little - boy - who - needs - all the forgiveness - I - can - pull - out - of - you!" act once he had been totally caught doing what he knows is not expected or allowed.  I never realized I had a thespian in our midst.  It really was an Oscar winning performance.  

2 comments:

Donna said...

Dogs are much smarter than some people give them credit for! If Cliff or I accidentally hurt Iris, for instance if one of us steps on her toes, or if she runs in front of us and we accidentally kick her, she MUST have sympathy: "Ohh, I'm so sorry Iris. I didn't mean to hurt you, you poor, poor pup."
She stands there with head lowered while we sooth and pet her. When we stop, she goes running on her merry way.

snugpug said...

Way to go, Gussie!