A little back story... Next door, a really great young couple moved in. After attempting to muzzle one of our barking dogs in the back yard, I ran into them. They told me they were having a family gathering the following day due to a death in the family.
I said, "That's a really nice idea. I'll try and keep the dogs inside and quiet."
A plan had been set.
So, that morning I took the dogs on two different walks, each more hellish than the last, to try and wear them out. Only one who got worn out was me, natch.
I kept them inside for as long as possible while the gathering next door raged.
After much whining and staring at the back door (and that was just me), I saw the neighbors had moved the party indoors. For the most part. Sure, there were two small girls throwing something back and forth, laughing and having a good ol' time, but that was it. Let them empty their bladders (the dogs, not the girls), toss a few cute barks the kids' way, then I'd bring 'em back inside. (Lord knows I tried to take them out on a leash in the front yard to bathroom them; of course I had no luck. But Mr. Loomis--who weighs all of twenty-one pounds--took three embarrassing poohs on our earlier walk. More than he weighed).
I rushed outside and said, "Hush, girl!"
The two girls stopped playing. Bijou quit barking. One girl gaped at me. I gaped back at her. The other girl looked at her playmate. Bijou stared at me, then back at the girls. Mr. Loomis was oblivious. I tried a creepy smile (the only kind I can muster when I force a smile). Both girls looked at me. Then they screamed and tore inside.
Fun!
Honestly, I had good intentions. And, really, is this worse child abuse than subjecting your kid to the imminently creepy Elf-On-A-Shelf routine? Talk about lifetime scarring.
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