My Little Terrierist

I work an office job and I’m a wife, a sister, a friend, etc. Don’t forget, I hold another full-time duty: sneaky terrier watch. Oh yeah.

Is my dog like your dog? I’m home. Hours will go by and he peacefully follows me around as I do house stuff, his nails click-clacking on the wood floors. We take a walk together or we play outside in the backyard with his tennis ball. It’s nice company.

Lunchtime. I fix a sandwich, pour something to drink, and sit down at the table to eat. My terrier sits at my feet, poised for handouts. When I’m finished eating, I might throw a little something into his food dish.

I’m back in the kitchen. I set my plate on the counter and turn to put the bread in the drawer. Two seconds and my terrier takes full advantage of the opportunity. He launches up. With his chin on the edge, he countersurfs over to the plate, sticking out his pink tongue to snag a lick of peanut butter. He’s quick, but not quiet. I hear the clatter. Busted.

I lift the plate and the dog scrambles back and sits, pretending to be good. I sigh. He earns solo playtime in the backyard for that stunt, but he knows he has me wrapped around his fuzzy paw. I scoop him up and carry him out of the kitchen as he nuzzles his wet brown nose into my neck. He’s a snuggler, but he’s devious, too. Outside he goes.

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