Look at those faces. Innocent. Sweet. "Just love us, dad. A cookie would be nice." You'd never believe that one of them is a serial barker. And its not the dog who spends most of his time in Zen poses. That would be Ching Ching, the Shiz-tzu. No, it would be Miguelito, the Chorkie who sees ghoulies in the bushes and gets upset at the mailman, a passing cat, a man with another dog, the wind, the moon, a disturbance on the sun. And he thinks I need to know these things. So he barks excitedly and persistently. Especially when I am on the computer or watching my soap.
Do you suppose he has a method to his madness? Do you think he knows I will eventually come and find him and scold him and tell you get his little tail inside this very moment? And don't you think I try to ignore him? But who can concentrate on anything with Barker the Sentry going off and off and off?
Okay, so I know the game. Tonight I sat down to write. And as soon as I started typing...you guessed it...bark bark bark. I gave in. I went to the back slider and turned on the light. There was my little soldier in the lantana, barking! Barking! Barking! I imagine there was something in the lantana, but I'll never know. I wasn't about to go foraging at 10:30pm. No, I called him, he finally came in, and here he sits on my lap, blissfully sleeping now.
Do I think he knows what he's doing? Do you? Is there a question whether to bark or not to bark? Not to this dog. Not my Miguelito.