Goldilocks and the Visitors

Okay, I'll be the first to admit that I'm a timid pooch. Pretty happy-go-lucky and playful most of the time, but I'm not super fond of strangers petting me vigorously on the head. Despite the endless "training" I still back away when I see a hand coming over my head to give me an "atta boy" pat on my curly noggin.

But for a week, I have been, as best as I can describe it, man-handled. Apparently this was training too, in preparation for a visit from Keenan and her pack of humans -- Jane and Monica. Monica's not so bad. She gives me space and when I'm ready, I weave myself in and out of her legs while she scratches my back and rubs behind my ears.

But JANE...she comes at me full force and even when I show signs of caution -- back away, run the other direction, or give a little bark -- she scoops me up and holds me like a sack of potatoes. Everyone thinks it's so cute, so cute in fact they try to take endless pictures of us together, but it never quite works out to be very photogenic. They say I don't hold still, but Jesus, what's a dog to do when all 35 pounds of you is swept off the floor, hurled into the air, and squeezed with such enthusiasm it feels like your breath is leaving your body for good?

As you can see from the above photo, what a dog does, what THIS dog does is tolerate it. They think I like it. They think my following Jane around after she's coddled me so is a sure sign I want to be hoisted and squeezed one more time, but I'm just keeping her in my sights. I don't want any back end attacks!

This time, after the endless hugs and the multiple attempts at photos, after all the hoisting and cuddling any one dog can stand, Jane and Monica went on their way leaving their dog, Keenan, at our house.

I like Keenan. I like older women. She's ten and very mellow and pretty much spends her days sleeping though she does enjoy a nice walk and a fun game of fetch only if the ball is thrown less than 30 feet away. I've been super nice to Keenan. I've shared my food, my bed, and the affection of my family with her and I've gotta say, it's been nice having her around.

Until...

...what's this? Has someone been reading my book?

Has someone been sleeping on the forbidden couch?

I'm beginning to pick up a bit of a double standard here. I get swept up in a flurry of energetic adoration while Keenan walks around (on all fours, I might add) with my toy in her mouth singing throughout the house. I am forbidden on the furniture and yet here's Keenan making herself at home on the couch and with my library!

Wait just one minute! For some reason, this doesn't seem fair and when I protest even the slightest, I get the lecture on how fair doesn't mean equal, how sharing is a sign of hospitality, how house guests have more advantages than those of us loyal enough to stay here 24-7!

I am a gentleman, though. I do not let the inequities ruffle my golden locks. I temper my behavior in front of our friends -- human and canine alike. I move out of the way when Keenan wants my bed. I move out of the way when I am offered a treat so Keenan gave have the first bite. I hand over my beloved toys and chew sticks when I am ordered, but underneath it all, I am biting my lip in swells of frustration.

"This is breedist!" I want to bark. "This is ageist!" I want to howl. Preferential treatment goes against the basic tenet of doggie manners. Do I love one parent more than the other? Do I scoff at which of them walks me? Do I turn up my nose when I am forced to sleep on one side of the bed and not the other, or even worse, forced to sleep back on the cold floor in the dead of night?

NO! I am a perfect gentleman -- happy-go-lucky and playful, adoring and kind -- but next time a visitor comes to stay in this house, I want to lay down a few ground rules first.

Do you hear me?