A Fuzzy Tornado

Recently, somebody mentioned (surmised? accused?) me of occasionally having a lot of energy. 

Guilty.

It usually happens about twice a day, and whenever possible I try to time it to be as inconvenient as possible.

I’m a giver. 🙂

For example, after we’ve had a lazy evening watching sappy hallmark shows and it’s time to go to bed, I always go outside one final time to do my business. I’m often half asleep, and might have to be picked up like a limp plush toy before I start walking on my own. 

I go out into the cold night air and wander around until I’m sure dad is completely chilled (because I heard him say, “no I don’t need my coat, he’ll be quick”) and then I do my thing and get my reward treat and we go in. 

Mom and dad turn off the lights and we go upstairs. 

Then I explode. 

I tear across the room like a fuzzy tornado, pouncing on Raven a moment before her wide-eyed “oh crap” triggers enough muscle memory to move her out of the way.   

She fights back, naturally, and if we’ve timed it right we usually crash through mom or dad’s feet just as they’re looking around to see what just happened. 

Dad says something I don’t understand and tries not to fall, and Raven leaps onto the bed for safety (because a week ago that meant she was out of reach — not any longer).  I land behind her like a graceful rhinoceros and shove her into the pillows.  

She barks, I come up with a mouthful of blankets, and then dad makes us get off the bed. Apparently we can wrestle on the floor but not up there. It works the same way on the couch downstairs. I’m still working out how they’re related. 

We carry on for about 15 minutes and then like flipping a switch, it’s over. Raven jumps up on the bed again to lay down, and I flop into a dog bed on the floor like nothing happened.  I usually stay there until I hear dad say “ok kennel up!” and then I walk over to my sleeping kennel next to dad and curl up against the pile of towels I’ve arranged. 

Sometimes, if dad is doing stretches on the floor or rolling on the back-roller thing, I’ll sneak back up onto the bed and then jump down onto him. He really likes that and usually says something tender like, “Oof! Hey, get off me!” 

It’s a special moment we share. 

Human Barking

That brings up something else… I’ve noticed that sometimes when I bark, dad barks back. Not like a human shout, but an actual dog-ish bark. I think he’s just doing it to be silly, which is good because it’s pretty funny. You see, he barks well enough to be a real bark, but not well enough to make sense. For example, this morning he was running a vacuum on the wood floor in the kitchen.  I like to bark at that vacuum, even though I don’t bark at the other vacuum that he uses on carpet.  
Today, I decided the vacuum needed to go back into the closet. This led to a weird bark conversation between dad and me:

• Dusty (barking at the vacuum): “hey get back in the closet you thing you!!!”
• Dad (also barking): “Cricket snorkels!!”
• Dusty: “What? No look, the thing!”
• Dad: “Table Eat Sock!”
• Dusty: “Huh? No, the vacuum!”
• Dad: “Skilled Egg Beard!”
• Dusty: “That doesn’t make any sense!”
• Dad: “Tree Poop!!!”
• Dusty: “What?!?”
• Dad: “Ducks!”

It’s very confusing. Maybe if he barks slower and louder it will make sense. I’ve heard that works with foreign languages. 

By the way, the other vacuum that he uses on carpet doesn’t bother me at all. 😜