Leroy is going to go to school to learn how to be a good boy. He is a good dog at the moment in that I have no doubt he would survive in the wild and keep himself well fed. We’re going to start him in a class where we give him treats in exchange for not being so dog-ish and also not so mountain goatish. We keep finding him sitting on top of things like his cage, his food container, our countertops.
Last night Kenny forgot that we have two dogs. Jack is comparatively quiet and hard to see. You’re usually all—hey, where’s Jack? Only to realize he is directly behind you or next to you. Last night I heard Jack crying and thought perhaps his collar had gotten stuck to a blanket or something. As I was already in bed and thus unable to move, I asked Kenny to find out what was wrong with Jack. He said, “Oh he’s fine. He’s sitting on the couch.” I called Jack. Leroy came. Jack continued to cry. It was then that Kenny realized the crying was coming from the hallway outside our apartment. Apparently Jack did not make it back through the door after Kenny had taken the boys out about ten minutes prior. He must have sat there for at least five minutes without making a sound—patiently waiting for his father to remember him.
Man I talk about my dogs a lot. Sorry about that. I will think of something not dog related for next time.