Relatives - you can't live with 'em, you can't live without 'em. Isn't that what you humans say?
"I think you mean, 'Relatives - it's good to see them come, it's even better to see them go,'" Mom answered.
"That's just plain wrong," I said.
"It's what my dad used to say," she replied. "He was just joking (mostly) and so am I (totally), so that's why I'm not sure this is a good blog topic - you're the only member of our family who may feel that way, but I do think it's a little bit of what you're feeling, mostly out of jealousy. Am I right?"
Well, I hate to admit it, but she's right. The other week, my human grandparents came to celebrate Big Brother's birthday. I'm not sure now's the time to mention it, but nobody rolled into town to celebrate my birthday. They couldn't even use the ol' "there was a blizzard" excuse this year. But I digress. Along with the grandparents came Uncle Bailey, their 9-year old Yorkie. You might remember him from my dog version of A Christmas Carol, in which I cast him as Cratchit.
I know every pooch lover out there is doing a solid, "Awww," which will make my case even harder to sell, but I'm going to speak some truths.
Uncle Bailey does not go to dog daycare, so he has completely missed the share and share alike memo. Everybody uses the same toys, drinks from the same water bowls, etc. It's just like kid daycare, and that's how we also pass on all diseases and illnesses, just like kid daycare. So when he drank my water, I was cool, but when I tried to sample his, and he got excited, Dad was all over me, shouting, "That's just rude!" That's just how it works, guys!
Also because he does not go to dog daycare, Uncle Bailey does not understand the "sniff your butt" game. I initiated said game, and he grunted like a pig and ran away. I do not speak oink, so I thought I should chase him - also a dog daycare game - but he just grunted even louder, and everyone shouted at me.
When we were alone later, I said, "Dude - what is your problem? Why won't you play any dog games? I don't remember us having these issues at Christmas time." He just made this warbly cooing noise like some kind of sick grouse. I said, "Look, I can't understand that mess. Don't you bark? I know you barked at me last time you were here." He just stared me down.
Since I couldn't talk to him, and since he had the sweet hookup of food in his crate while the humans were at dinner, I sat outside the crate with my face pushed up against the side and a paw through a hole. I was hoping charades was a game he liked - "This is me doing 'hungry dog,' I said. "In other words, I'm trying to snag some of your snacks." Nothing. "Look. Don't be mad that I'm out here and you're in there. I'm pretty sure it's only cause they think you need protection from me - or at least your treats do."
Now, I'm not complaining about the treats my humans buy for me, cause I've got it pretty good, but Uncle Bailey, now, he's got some sweet snacks. And they aren't always locked up in his crate! His humans are always giving him tastes of their snacks, while my humans shout - you guessed it - "No, Gus! That's rude!" (Top secret tip: Human grandparents rock, because they give you unauthorized treats when Mom and Dad aren't looking. 😉)
Grandad has a secret Bailey snack spot in the basement, too! I'm allowed to go down there with Dad all the time to revel in the testosterone that is the Man Cave. So, when Dad, Grandad, and Uncle Bailey headed down there, I went along to scope it out. I couldn't get near the snacks, though, cause Dad sent me back up to Mom.
I'm a patient guy, though, so I waited for my moment. I knew sooner or later, Grandad would leave that door ajar, and I was right! Zoom! Down I went, rounded the landing, and zipped to the bottom. I cut a sharp right turn and lunged for the stash! To my great surprise, and a fact I failed to notice with my tunnel vision on the snacks, Dad was down there! He pounced on me with the agility of a leopard - quite a feat for a big guy! He nearly threw me back up the steps shouting bad words only Mom is usually allowed to say. I skulked back upstairs with my tail between my legs doing some dog cussing of my own.
"You ever have an uncle that made you sad?" I asked Mom later.
"Not really. I had some great uncles. My literal great Uncle Jack always had a pocket full of wrapped hard tack candy or mints that he'd slip us now and then. And my Uncle Allan was super generous and gave me money for college."
"No snack hoarding or warbling then?"
Mom laughed. "Well, no, but I also wasn't trying to play games with my uncles. Poor Bailey is an old dog! And he has never had a dog friend," she explained. "Maybe you could just adjust your expectations. Maybe you could try kindly explaining to him how it works and ask if he wants to play vs. forcing the games on him or chasing him around. Life is all about expectation, Gus. Change yours, and you'll enjoy Bailey more the next time he is here."
Next time. Ugh. I forgot. They're coming back. Saturday.
"You stop that, Gus!" Mom scolded. "We love our family and always enjoy their visits. I love that Bailey comes, too. He's a sweet pooch who doesn't make any trouble. You're the one making the trouble! You need an attitude adjustment!"
Changing expectations. Adjusting attitudes. This relative thing is hard work. But Mom's right. We love the rest of the family - canine and humans both . . . even I can admit it. But a little more barking and snack sharing would go a long way. Just saying.
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