I walked out of the school this afternoon and into a blizzard. Ugh. Check out my front street through the living room window. Those with weak stomachs may want to skip this photo:
I knew it was coming, but I still wasn’t ready. In his doggy wisdom, Sherman really seemed to have forgotten about winter while I was at work. Poor guy was stunned yet again when I opened the door to let him out once I crawled home from work (the roads were super greasy because it’s not cold enough yet). Maybe it’s better to not see winter coming. Like a bee sting. Or a chainsaw.
When I called Sherman inside following his after-school pee, he sat on the back step as he’s trained to do to tell me when he’s finished. I explained through the door that he needed to wait for a moment so I could snap a photo for my blog. Understandably considering the weather, he tried to stand up and head inside before I released him, which I corrected. It sounded like this:
“Pssht! Sit.” Thump. “Good sit. Wait.” Camera noises. “Good wait.” Camera noises and a whimper from the dog. “Good, good boy. Let’s go!” Let’s go is his release cue; it’s what I say to tell him he’s done what I need him to do, and that he’s free to do what he wants, like coming inside or eating his dinner or taking the treat I’ve set in front of him but told him not to touch.
Sherm doesn’t seem to get the whole “photo for the blog” business. He’s the best kind of famous person: the kind who has no idea that folks all over the damn place know who he is. Still, I felt bad at making him wait in the blizzard for me to get the photo. For what it’s worth, I was cold in the open doorway too.
Am I like one of those pageant moms on t.v., making Sherman pose for photos in the name of fame and production value? Do I parade my child around against his wishes? Perhaps a little bit, but I swear to you that I will never, ever make him wear lip gloss or a hairpiece.
I make no promises about ridiculous costumes.
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