Those must be some good cookies...
Saturday, January 29th, 2005 11:31 amSo I'm in the bathroom/laundry room, sorting laundry for the next load, and in comes Mozart to supervise. Not completely unheard of, but not usual, either. He strolls past me and the washing machine, peers into the bathtub, where we've been conducting Operation Foot Soak, walks back to me, makes eye contact and squeaks authoritatively. Several times. And walks back to the bathtub.
Not quite believing what I was seeing here, I started the next batch of laundry, filled the basin in the tub while Mozart waited patiently, picked him up, put his back feet in the water, and held him firmly by the scruff, talking to him. He muttered a bit, which one must, for pride, then time was up. I dried his feet and out we went to the kitchen. He jumped up on the cookie-receiving box and I gave him his treat.
He's now sunning himself in my office window, looking outrageously pleased with himself.
Not quite believing what I was seeing here, I started the next batch of laundry, filled the basin in the tub while Mozart waited patiently, picked him up, put his back feet in the water, and held him firmly by the scruff, talking to him. He muttered a bit, which one must, for pride, then time was up. I dried his feet and out we went to the kitchen. He jumped up on the cookie-receiving box and I gave him his treat.
He's now sunning himself in my office window, looking outrageously pleased with himself.
Nah, he's thinking,,,
Date: 2005-01-29 05:24 pm (UTC)