I Accept A Smidgen of Responsibility
Some might wonder how, with a dog like Wonderbutt, our saintly Golden Retriever could have been saddled with a nickname like Mrs. Pain in the Butt.
After all, she is the Lady to Wonderbutt’s Tramp, right?
Looks can be deceiving.
Mrs. P.I.B. has quite a few habits that have helped her to earn her nickname, despite her well-mannered appearance.
I alluded to one of them in yesterday’s post regarding my super duper cooking skills and the involvement of a smoke alarm.
The pacing and panting and major freak-out are not infrequent reactions on the part of Mrs. P.I.B.
I do have some sympathy, however, because I’m pretty sure her anxiety is all my fault.
Years ago, long before Wonderbutt, and months before the Smoke Alarm Incident, Mrs. P.I.B. was fairly well-adjusted. One night, we went to bed as normal, only to be woken several times by a whining dog outside our door. Mrs. P.I.B. does not sleep in our bedroom normally because she makes all kinds of noise while she is sleeping – from smacking her lips loudly to whining while she chases squirrels in her dreams.
When we opened the door that night, she was frantic, and tried to sweep past us into the room, but we wouldn’t let her, thinking it would set a precedent that we would have a hard time breaking.
It was not a fun night.
The next morning, I got up early, and went out to the kitchen to deal with our panic-stricken dog. As I neared the kitchen, I heard a beeping sound. I finally tracked it down to my cell phone. Apparently, the battery had died. It wasn’t completely dead, though. It emitted its pre-flatline regular beep all night, which would probably be considered a particularly cruel form of torture for canines with sensitive ears. As soon as I plugged the phone in to recharge, silencing the beep, Mrs. P.I.B. noticeably calmed down. The mystery was solved.
But the fun was just beginning. Starting with that incident, Mrs. P.I.B. became a nervous wreck whenever something beeped. We were more conscientious about keeping our phones charged. But, then we had a couple of thunderstorms that caused the electricity to go out, causing the various electronics to beep. After that, Mrs. P.I.B. became deathly afraid of thunderstorms. There doesn’t even have to be a beep anymore. Now, as soon as the wind begins to signal an oncoming storm, Mrs. P.I.B. begins to cling to our heels.
I was watching the Friends episode the other night when Phoebe’s smoke alarm won’t die even after she: removes the battery, beats it with a hammer, and throws it down the garbage chute (hilarious episode, I highly recommend it!). Mrs. P.I.B. ran into the room at the first screech of the smoke alarm on T.V. She looked at me as though I were crazy to allow this to continue, couldn’t I hear that blasted sound? I finally had to change the channel because I was afraid the dog would expire before the alarm did.
So, all of you Mrs. P.I.B. fans out there, let me assure you that she comes by her nickname honestly. She’s got some other bad habits, too. But a Lady has to have some secrets.
Nervous wreck of a dog that she is, she’s still just as lovable as Wonderbutt.