This morning dawned rainy and cold, typical fall weather for the day before Thanksgiving in Missouri. Will had to work, but I have the day off, and thank you for that because I need to clean before tomorrow's festivities. There is, however, a delay in the process because both of the adult children are still asleep, one with a crashing headache.
So while I'm waiting for a decent hour to start running the vacuum cleaner and crashing dishes and clutter around, I'm enjoying a quiet cup of coffee with no school or urgent jobs to interrupt. As I wander out to the kitchen to warm up my cup I'm shadowed by a beautiful black German shepherd with pitifully sad eyes. "No, Storm. I'm sure Daddy already fed you." She lays down flat and looks up at me with all the sorrow of a starving puppy on a pet shelter ad.
I've become inured to her various attempts to manipulate me, so I ignored her and went back to the living room. She waited about five minutes before coming out and sitting by my feet - read as: sat on my foot and leaned her 75 pounds on my leg with her head pressing heavily on my knee. Again the sad eyes looked up at me. Bolt couldn't do a better job with all the acting coaching that little black cat could conjure.
I picked up my cell phone. Maybe he didn't feed her because he knew I was getting up and staying home. I dialed the number...she lifted her head enough to take the weight off, still hopeful. But when I asked Will if he had fed her, she turned her head away and started looking guilty. That's right. Not only had he fed her, he gave her all her morning meds and treats. After I hung up, laughing, she walked over to her pillow and sits now with her chin on the window sill looking dismally out at the rain.
It's really too bad I can't teach a smart dog like that to clean bathrooms.