Pssst…..It’s me “the dog!”

I recently learned that my mom has been writing about me. She doesn’t know that I know. So this will need to be our secret! OK?

Here’s the thing. I love my mom and I really don’t mind her writing about me (I kinda like being a rock star!) but I think there are some things she has neglected to tell you.

First, I am not just “The Dog.” I have a name and it is Sugar. My whole name is Sugar Cookie, but that can be a mouthful.

I got my name the day my mom and I found each other. I was very skinny and covered with fleas. Mom said she wasn’t going to keep me, she already had too many dogs. But she couldn’t stand to see me in such bad shape so she drove me to the vet and asked them to take care of me.

She told the vet’s office once I was cleaned up and cleared as healthy, she would find me a good home.

The receptionist said I needed a name for the chart. Mom didn’t know what to name me. And since she didn’t plan to keep me, I think she was afraid if she gave me a name I’d be harder to give away! The receptionist said, “She is the same color as a sugar cookie!” So that is what they named me.

Needless to say Mom kept me (how could she resist) and the name stuck!

The other thing about me, that will also be our secret….even though I don’t have thumbs, I can still do a lot of stuff, like type!

Oops! Here comes Mom….I better go!

If my dog had thumbs, continued……

“Oh the doorbell!” My dog jumps out of a sound sleep, “Someone is here!” She spins in a complete circle, unable to contain her excitement.
As she slides across the tile floor she tries to grip the floor with her paws. Unsuccessful, she crashes into the front door. She stands, shakes off the door crash and stares at the front door.

My dog knows there is a rule about this door and the sound of the doorbell. But what is it? The door bell rings again. She can’t stand the idea of a potential friend standing on the other side of this wood barrier. “What if it is someone that wants to scratch my ears?”

She paces around the entry hall, “What is that rule?” As she ponders, the door bell rings again. “That’s it!” She lunges toward the door. “I was given these thumbs for a reason, I better use them!”

She opens the door and stares at the man standing in front of her. He has a badge hanging from his shirt, a clip board in one hand and a pen in the other hand. 

“Hi, my name is Steve, I’m selling magazines.” They stare at each other.

“Do you want to scratch my ears?” My dog pants with excitement.

“We have this magazine about cats.” Steve holds the cat magazine at eye level for my dog to view.

“That’s a funny looking dog.” She sniffed the picture then looked back up at Steve. “Do you want to scratch my ears?”

They stare at each other. Steve finally breaks the silence, “I’ll just leave that magazine with you.”

My dog stares at the picture of the cat, “That is a funny looking dog.” She closes the door, using her thumbs and sighs, “he didn’t scratch my ears.”

“Look!” “Out the window!” My dog would force these words between her pants of excitement, if she could speak english.

“It’s a bunny!” “Mom, it’s a bunny. I want to chase him!” “I won’t hurt the bunny.” “Com’n Mom, just open the door!” These words would erupt from her mouth as she bounced between the family room window and the back door, if my dog could speak english.

I specifically say english because that is the only language I know. And at this point in her life the only language my dog knows is “Dog Speak!” I know her barks, whimpers and snarls all mean something. I know each tail wag, sniff and lick are                                                                forms of communication. 
The dilemma is, when two different languages are spoken in the same house without a mutual communication device, confusion is bound to arise. 

If my dog could speak english, we would not have to play the guessing game. She could simply explain her preference of toys. Rather than tear to shreds every stuffed toy that enters the house. She could just say, “Mom, if you stop by the pet-toy-store today, would you please buy one of those chewy bones that are impossible to destroy?” 

If my dog could speak english, she could remind me which treat it is she prefers instead of throwing up the one that I think she likes. 

If my dog spoke english she could politely ask to ride along to the store, instead of tripping me as I pick up my keys.

It is also possible, if my dog could speak english, she would ask me to stop trying to dress her up and simply let her inner beauty shine!

On the other hand, if my dog spoke english, would I regret her being able to talk back? Especially now that she is going through the terrible 2’s?!