This morning, Totsi the Dog and I sat by the windows looking out to the deck while I had my coffee. It's important for us to rest up after corralling cats; Foot Foot Kitty was especially determined to be pesky, and Foster the Cat was....Foster the Catting. Been there, talked about that, Goodwilled the t-shirt. Anyway, as soon as I took my coffee cup to the sink, Totsi decided it was time to go back upstairs and snooze with Didgeridoo Boy, or as she calls him, Daddy.
Yes, yes, time to go curl up with Daddy. And she gives hints, prancing around, going back and forth between where I am and the base of the stairs, asking if it's okay to go back upstairs to take a nap with Daddy. This morning, though, she seemed to be asking for more. She ran up the stairs when I told her it was okay, and stood at the stop. Stared. Stared. Stared. It's pretty obvious when Totsi is asking for something.
I asked, "Do you want the door closed?", and she ran to the bedroom.
It's as though she's trying to score some kind of one-on-one with Didgeridoo Boy, isn't it? Funny, I'd never thought of my dog as a needy woman; Didge is friendly and supportive, and certain types of women do tend to like to capitalize upon that kind of attention. But my dog? Now my dog? Et tu, Totsi? Where have I gone wrong in her upbringing? I thought I'd given her the foundation for strong self esteem, that she'd never be *that kind of woman*, the kind who will turn to a married man for (ahem) emotional support.
Sigh. I'm going to head out for the current issue of Cosmo and browse some self-help sites to try to find out where I might have gone wrong, as well as locate some tips on how to help her rebuild from where I went off course. It's the least I can do.
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