I Wield Guilt like a Whip

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Hello.  I’m a dignified 8-year-old Corgi named Freya.  I am Krista’s dog, and I adore her.  But on Fridays, Krista goes God-knows-where and leaves me home with “grandma” (her word, not mine).  Grandma calls it “Fridays with Freya” and it’s special spoiling time for the two of us. 

Ugh.

Grandma talks to me only in the world’s highest possible squeaky voice, asking me questions that I’m supposed to answer.  Here’s an example: “Who’s the best puppy? Say “I am!””  I’m especially annoyed when she asks me open-ended questions, like, “What do you think?”  I’m middle-aged, I don’t have time for this baby-talk nonsense. 

There are times when Grandma leaves me alone at home.  I am totally fine with the peace and quiet of being alone (I’m very mature).  But, because I’m a rascal, I hang my head low when she comes back, and barely move.  She sits down with me, pets me and then I roll over for a belly rub.  If she tries to stop, I look at her again, and pose.  This could go on all day--I love to power of wielding guilt.  

Grandma, like most old women, is obsessed with poop.  It’s winter and it takes a little self-pep talk to squat in the snow, ok? Grandma should know this, but damn—I’ve been out 4 times in the past 2 hours.  I’ve been taken for two walks.  This is a battle of will--I can hold it in like a vacuum.  Finally, grandma got my mini-tennis ball.  I wanted to resist, but it’s a BALL!  I played fetch for about 20 minutes, and then, I felt the call of nature.  Grandma congratulated me profusely and treated me to 2 duck-flavored yummies. 

And then the cycle begins.  She feeds me.  She waits for a while and then she takes me outside.  Repeat. 

Eh, it’s not a bad life, but KRISTA COME HOME!


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