“Remoted” – Workday Twenty-Six (Saturday)

Second snowy morning of the week. I couldn’t find any info in my thorough, 45-second internet search for local snowfall totals this winter, so this could be way off the mark, but it feels like our two mid-April snowfalls were more than what we got in all of January. It also seems that moving the shovel, skis and snowshoes from the back shed to the enclosed front porch in the fall in preparation for winter snow activities acted as a snow preventative, and their recent return to the shed seems to have inspired the snow. The snowfall didn’t last long, and neither did the accumulation.

Work was moderately busy and the canine overlords were models of calmness and civility for most of it and left me alone. Moose napped in the bed near the desk most of the day, snoring softly. Meanwhile, Winston, aka King Hopalong, was perched on his couch throne, lording over the living room in a regal and quiet manner. Around the time I was wrapping up work for the day, Moose became restless and embarked on his  daily dinnertime begging spectacle. It’s a Broadway extravaganza that starts with whining that grows to a barking crescendo. There is dancing around me with footwork that would make the Rockettes proud as he tries to herd me to the food closet. The only thing lacking is costumes. 

Like most days, the pre-dinner histrionics began with still more than an hour to doggy dinner time. I’m reluctant to alter the feeding times under the assumption that eventually things will return to the old normal. It will be enough of a shock to the pups when they are again swaddled in their doggy diapers, and I leave the house each morning and don’t return for eight to ten hours at a time. Also having their dinner time changed could lead to a revolution.

The star likes to stare.

After dinner is when Moose presents his post dinner show. This production is heavy on penetrating stares from the lead actor, delivered from various distances. Scripting is limited to overuse of the special bark that sounds exactly like “Out, out,” used by the overlord to signal his desire to be on the other side of the entry door. The audience participation component involves approximately 1,237 trips to open the door, for which he really wants to go out only three or four times, and all the others are because he wants a cookie. It’s exhausting. Apparently for both of us, because the star naps after the performance, but at least then he is quiet. Thank Dog for small miracles.