It never fails. I am left alone for hours in order to browse others’ blogs and read at my heart’s content without interruptions, but as soon as I decide I want to actually write one, the chihuahuador wants a cuddle.
Don’t get me wrong, I love her to pieces, she’s my baby and she’s still not feeling entirely herself after her surgery, I have no problems cuddling her. But why is it small pets asking for attention only want the spot on your lap (or desk) that is currently occupied by your keyboard?
Jealousy. And who can blame them? It’s bigger than they are, it’s warm, and it seems to be taking up an inordinate amount of their owner’s attention. Why? Think about it from their perspective. What is so interesting about that white (or black) plastic contraption that makes those human hands stroke it so lovingly, when those hands could be stroking their soft shiny fur?
It’s an odd sort of sibling rivalry, in which the small, furry and warm tail-wagger or paw-licker tries desperately hard to get their mom or dad’s attention while the other, much less warm, plastic electronic brother or sister gets all the attention. Is there no bigger injustice in this world to that poor animal??
I live in a small room and sit on my bed in order to type at my computer, and me and the keyboard in my lap take up less than 1/4 of the bed. But when Jezzie wants on the bed, she wants the spot the keyboard happens to be sitting in- even if it isn’t in my lap. It’s like the rest of the bed isn’t even there.
It’s no mystery that small animals are strange. All animals have their own personalities, but it’s the small ones that tend to overindulge in their particularities. Eccentricities, one may venture to call them.
And what happens when you DON’T move that keyboard?
They pretend the keyboard isn’t even there. But they don’t just go plop on it. They’re sneaky. Here’s Jezzie’s style of stealth:
First, upon jumping on the bed, she looks around at the rest of the bed and has already decided it doesn’t exist, so she turns to me. Seeing me with the keyboard on my lap, my hands hovering above it, she stares at me and gives me 1.5 seconds to turn my attention solely to her. If I don’t, she does one of two things: Gives the underside of the keyboard a nice nudge with her nose in attempts to knock it out of “her” spot, or paws my hand once or twice. Her satisfaction lasts only a moment past the pat I give her on her head or her shiny black fur, then she makes it very clear she wasn’t looking for a “good dog” and a “good day”, she’s looking for actual attention that will take up as much of my time as she deems necessary.
So she’ll resort to angrier methods, such as pawing my hands with her claws. When that doesn’t work- she turns on the dramatics. And this dog can be dramatic! Letting out a big long sigh and a huff, she circles a couple of times and lays in a ball, curled up next to my side- her face intentionally turned away from me. When I pet her, she ignores ME, and lets out a huff of irritation if I persist in trying to make amends for my apparent earlier diss.
So I give up, I sigh, and I turned back to my keyboard. For up to a full two minutes she’ll allow me to work, waiting just long enough to ensure that I have “forgotten” about the little ball of fuzz laying next to my leg, ignoring me in pretension as she plots her next move.
And most of the time, she knows exactly how long to wait. Because it isn’t until I’ve opened a new blog page, blank microsoft word document, or someone IMs me that she launches into her next plan of action.
Mid-stroke, mid-word or mid-response, focused on my duties, I notice a slight shift beside me and all of the sudden this long black form stretches out over my keyboard, belly up, looking for a belly rub with innocence on her face and a little wag in her tail, even though it’s quite obvious by her little bit of squirming and pained expression that laying on this particular surface isn’t the most comfortable place to lounge.
And, then, of course, the added bonus that my IM, blog, or writing now spells
And she manages to squirm enough to hit “enter” in the process, thus sending somebody the eloquent Instant Message of:
And the receiving party of that instant message wonders if I’ve stroked out.
I try to scold, “Jezzie!” But that does no good. She’s won. She’s impervious to my frustration, especially as I find it funny and can’t manage to say her name without having to stifle a laugh. (Point in fact, and this applies to young children as well: When having an argument, once you laugh, they’ve won and everyone knows it.)
Giving up, I finally pull my keyboard out from under her, toss it aside to pet her, and cuddle her, give her the attention she wanted…
and then two seconds later, she hears a noise… gets up and runs off faster than my camera can capture. I think my dog has ADHD.
Well that has been my saga, and the reason this was published before I even started it (she laid on the keyboard while I was typing it out and somehow got it to publish itself) the reason it took almost a full hour to complete (the above scenario repeated itself about six times) and the reason I’m laughing so hard right now. Gotta love your pets and all their eccentricities!
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