You know it is never a good sign when the house all of a sudden get's very quiet. The jingle of the tags on a dog collar stop clanging and all movement seems to have ceased. It's at that moment when a sense of panic starts to build. I call her name, "Liz." Nothing, not even a peep.
I slowly start to get off my couch to see where the little rascal might be. I turn around and as I am doing so, I catch out of the corner of my eye, my dog standing up on my dinning room chairs, front paws up on the table, while she licks the table cloth like a mad woman. See, my dog is rather smart. She had seen me eating my dinner there earlier in the evening, and I'm sure the thought crossed her mind that there must be some kind of food left over.
So, there she was, trying her hardest to get what ever crumb she could find. Never mind that she had been fed only an hour before. It took me physically picking her up and placing her on the ground to get her away from the table. Nothing like having to do an unnecessary load of laundry because my puppy acts like she is wasting away to nothing.
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