Sparkle has cabin fever. The poor dog has just about enough fur to protect her from a cool summer breeze, and so in the deepest, coldest days of winter –as we’ve been experiencing here for the last week– she goes outside long enough to pee and that’s about it.
Add to the mix that I’m sick and I’ve only left the house three times in as many days and, well, you’ll get why she stands there looking at me with this look. The Look. The “why are you not letting me go for a walk” look.
I tried explaining that the temperature out the front door, at the park, and everywhere within any sort of reasonable distance is pretty much exactly the same as it is in the backyard… where she does her business numerous times per day and from whose wintery clutches she bounds into the house like her bum is on fire… but with ice and cold and snow clinging to her paws.
She needs a walk. And as every walk-less moment passes she won’t let me forget it.
In fact I’m getting the look as I’m sitting here on the couch writing this post. Right now. A glare of such pitiful puppy magnitude that I almost want to stuff her into a sweater, wrap her boney little paws up in the mittens she hates so much and walk her to the mailbox and back… because that’s about how far she’d make it before she was hopping down the street in a feigned “oh my poor paws” limp that she’s figured out gets her picked up and carried back to the house.
Instead, we’ll just camp here on the warm couch. I’ll nurse my lingering cough and she can cure her cabin fever with a few extra cuddles.
It’ll warm up soon, pup, I promise.