Bean was sleeping peacefully at my feet beneath the computer desk. Her little feet were twitching, so she must have been dreaming. Of what, I can only guess-- I like to think that she dreams of finally catching the squirrel who lives in our tree–the one who throws bits of bark and seed pods at her when she’s in the yard. Or perhaps she dreams she finally got a bite of the mailman, for whom, for some reason, she harbors a deep loathing.
I turned in my chair to reach for something, and my elbow hit a glass of water. It poured over the edge of the desk, right onto her head. Being soaked with a glass of cold water probably is not the most pleasant way to wake up. She lept to her feet, and instantly came to the conclusion it was my fault.
I went and got a towel, drying off her head the best I could before I tended to the rug. She vigorously rubbed her face on the floor, shook several times, and then gave me a look of outrage. She marched from the room, and is now sleeping in the library. She wouldn’t even come to me when I offered a Cheez-It cracker.
Bean was Queen Victoria in one of her former lives. If her dignity is offended, she’ll stay mad for the rest of the day. I don’t suppose I’ll see her until late tonight
I know what you mean…my springer spaniel gets very upset when i get mad. Last week I was looking for a tax form-and the dog thought I was MAD at him! He had his tail down ,eyes downcast,etc.
When we first brought Misty home, Noel (now the oldest) was at the time, the youngest-one older cat and the dog. Normally, my mother is her favorite. She was so pissed she gave my mother the cold shoulder for over a week.
Just leave the house for 15 minutes and come back. It’ll seem like you were gone for days and she’ll be so excited to see you she’ll forget the entire incident.
I just went to the post office to mail a letter (I don’t have an outgoing mail box) and she greeted me when I came through the door. I’ll give her a pig ear, and that should be a sufficient olive branch, I should think.
Now, Bean does not do the oh-my-god-you’re-not-dead dance. That is beneath her dignity. She comes to the door, and curls her lips in what can only be described as a smile, wags her tail a few times, and butts my leg with her head to indicate she wants a pat. She sniffs me a few times to see what I’ve been up to, and then wanders off to resume whatever she was doing before I came home.
She gets annoyed with the younger dogs’ enthusiastic greetings. When they start yiping and jumping, she sternly barks at them, and if sufficiently irked by the chaos, may knock one of them to the floor and stand over them, growling.
