Our dog, Jazz, is a beautiful member of our family, but she's only allowed on the wooden floors and certainly not the carpets. She's a fantastic dog, though, and has seemed to grasp this from the moment we brought her home as a 9 month old, adolescent puppy.
An hour later, Tracey was kicking her out of the house again.
"Three times I found her in the front bedroom," Tracey told me. "Three times! Jazz never sets foot on the carpet. I thought I'd have to go all Cesar Millan on her." Which means nothing more sinister than taking her for a walk.
The fourth time Jazz ventured into the bedroom, however, Tracey was in the kitchen and saw what had been happening.
Miss3 was grabbing a handful of dog food from the cupboard and doing a Hansel & Gretel. She was placing one little doggy biscuit after another in a trail all the way from the balcony, through the house, to her room. Poor Jazz was merely following the food.
Tracey asked Miss3 why she was doing this, and the answer she got amounted to nothing more than Miss3 wanting a bit of control.
"She follow me," grinned our attention seeking Miss3, like being able to get anyone in this house to do what you want is the Holy Grail.
And I guess, when you're the sixth child of seven, it kind of is.
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