Telepathic Failures

Abbye was inexplicably restless last night. As MLB and I sat in the living room — she with notebook (binder) in lap, studying, and I with notebook (computer) in lap, coding — Abbye did her best to get our attention.

She sat in front of each of us and stared. She walked over to her Big Pillow and laid down for a few seconds, generally facing me, glaring with upcast, accusing eyes. She moved into the game room, next to my computer desk, and sat. She went in and out of the kitchen, drinking copious amounts of water. She lay on the rug next to the bookcase, facing away from us. She sat in the doorway leading to the bedroom and laundry room. In short, she was a nervous wreck, for no discernible reason.

We did our best to interpret her signals. Did she want to go outside? No. Did she want more food? No. Did she want to jump up next to us and get scratches and act like a real dog? Emphatically, no. Had Timmy fallen into the well (again) and needed rescuing? Probably, but that wasn’t relevant at this point.

Finally, MLB got up to get something from the bedroom and discovered the reason for the strange behavior. The bedroom door had swung shut! It stood between Abbye and her crate!! It was past her bedtime!!! The world as she knew it would soon end!!!!

MLB opened the door and Abbye was through it faster than Michael Moore on a 6″ meatball sub. We didn’t see her the rest of the night. I’m sure she was casting evil thoughts our direction from the safety of her crate, but, of course, we missed them.

Have you ever known a dog so non-assertive as to be unwilling to push a door with its nose or scratch at it, even when faced with a life-and-death situation?