One of my favorite pastimes is pushing buttons. It's easy, and it's fun. But I never knew it had a name until just recently. You know by now that I love a good stick to chomp on, and you know my humans try to protect me from myself with a basket muzzle - so I can't eat things like sticks. But it's such a good challenge to try to keep doing it, so I do. Then when this happened,
Mom said I was really pushing her buttons. Jeez. You bring one tree branch into the house while wearing your muzzle, and you're a button-pusher! Then I thought, Wait - what is that?
"It means you're driving me nuts," Mom said, as she worked to get the branch out of the muzzle so we could take it off. When the operation was successfully completed, I asked Mom if this button pushing was something humans do, too.
She replied, "Yep."
"Like what?"
She didn't even need a minute to think. "When the person in front of me at a stoplight is too busy looking at their phone to notice the light changed, that pushes my buttons. When the person in the express line at the grocery store has a cart loaded down with all kinds of stuff that not only totals more than 12 items but requires weighing, that person pushes my buttons, as does the cashier who didn't have the guts to tell them no." After a quick pause to take a breath, Mom rolled on. "The guy at Walmart who lets the 10 people ahead of me walk out with obvious items of value without checking their receipts, only to stop me to inspect my bag of deodorant and underwear, the receipt for which is already tucked neatly in my wallet that is in my purse - that pushes my buttons." Casting a sly glance at Dad, Mom went on, "People who drive like Grandpas in the left lane on the interstate," she paused, turning her glance the other way towards Big Brother as she said, "and little boys who don't put their clothes in the hamper, they push my buttons, too." Scratching me lovingly between my ears, she leaned down and whispered, "So do little dogs who act like they can't hear me when I say it's time to go pee for night-night."
At this point I began to think about all the things I do knowing that they aggravate my humans. For instance, rolling around on my back, so Dad can't get the leash on me on those mornings I just don't feel like going to camp. I just love hearing him plead in his Southern drawl, as he leans all 6'6" of himself down to try to lasso me, "Come on, Gus." Or pretending like I'm going to snatch el Señor Bunny Pants, Big Brother's favorite lovey, out of his bed. His screeching, "No, Gus! No! Get out of here," is enough to turn around even those no-camp feeling days.
"Well," I said, "I'm glad I don't let anyone push my buttons."
"Reeaally?" Mom asked as she rolled her eyes. "What about those squirrels that sit on
the fence and then jump just on the other side of it when you come running? Or what about
Maurice, your buddy next door, when he gets out of his fence and comes pressing his face through ours? How about that cat with the white paws like yours? It didn't push your buttons the other day when we pulled back the curtain on the back door to find him sitting on our steps? What about that frog that lives under the basketball hoop, who's always trying to block the back door at night? How about when Big Brother squeezes himself between me and you on the couch?"
"OK! OK!" I said.
Point taken. "So what you're saying is," I said to Mom, "what goes around, comes
around. I push people's buttons, and people - or creatures - push mine."
"Yep."
"Do you think you push anyone's buttons?" I asked.
"Nope," Mom replied. "Don't you think I'm pretty awesome? How could I be a button-pusher?"
At this point, Dad interjected himself into our conversation. "Gus," Dad said. "I want to tell
you a few things that push my buttons. In the spirit of what goes around comes around, people who have no interest in helping make the store list, and then when I'm actually in the checkout line at the grocery store text me four items they need - those people push my buttons. So do folks who stay up too late and then make noise coming to bed when some of us get up at 4:45 to exercise. So, you see, Gus, what goes around does come around."
Mom's face said:
"Mom," I said. "I think Dad's throwing shade your way."
"You know what else pushes my buttons, Gus?" Mom asked. "Dogs that state the obvious."
Roger that. Let me head outside to see if there are any blue birds sitting on the fence I can chase or a spare stick I could bring in. Gotta keep the button-pushing cycle turnin' around and around and around. A dog's got to do what a dog's got to do!
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