A blog post by Josiah, an opinion-sharing Yorkie
Miss Janet sometimes leaves the house without me. I think that is always a mistake. I am her security detail and faithful companion. What could she be thinking? Sometimes humans just get hopelessly confused.
I do my best to straighten her out. I bark and jump, trying to get her attention. But she seems not to hear me. She’s lost in a fog.
She has asked why I treat her departures so loudly now. When I was a puppy, I was very calm whenever she stepped outside. I had to trust her decisions and just roll with whatever she chose to do. That’s what puppies do.
Now, as a young adult Yorkie, I have opinions on her decisions and expect to be consulted.
As I see it, there are four levels of departures, and I respond to each one differently:
Level 1: The Scheduled Departure
Every week, Miss Janet goes to book club. This outing is planned and preapproved. It’s a predictable pattern. I’m totally okay with it and know exactly what to do.
I settle in my cozy crate with my Kong tire, a bowl of water, and my favorite treat. When the lights go out and the front door closes, I tuck in for a long nap. I’m off duty, and it’s an enjoyable evening.
Level 2: The Unplanned Departure
Sometimes Miss Janet just leaves. She doesn’t consult me. She just goes. Usually this follows a beep on her phone. That’s code for the humans have decided to meet somewhere without the pups.
Not only is this situation unfair, but worse, it’s unpredictable. I like my routines. I appreciate advance notice of any changes. I want to be consulted. A simple, “Is it okay if I go out for a bit while you take a nap?” would be appropriate.
Instead, I get put in my playpen, no explanation, and out the door she goes. I don’t bark right away, in case she changes her mind. When I hear the front door close, that’s when I bark. Loudly.
I bark and bark and bark, to make sure she can hear me outside. To remind her that she didn’t consult me, and I have not given my okay. It doesn’t stop her from leaving, but it gives her something to think about as she drives away.
Level Three: The Swimming Error
I know exactly when Miss Janet goes swimming. She gets her bag, swimsuit, and towels from the laundry room. She grabs sunscreen from the cabinet. Her hat from the closet. It’s a very predictable pattern, easy to recognize.
And I know where she goes: to my doodle friend Beauregard’s farm. Sometimes my aunties are there too. I can recreate the entire event from the scents when she gets home.
The odd thing is she often doesn’t take me along. Sometimes she grabs me, and I get to visit all my friends. But just as often, she walks right out the door, leaving me behind.
Can you imagine why she would go swimming without me? To my best buddy’s farm? With my favorite humans? Clearly, she wouldn’t leave me home on purpose. It’s got to be a misfire in her brain that causes her to go off without me.
The error code in her brain is easy to recognize. She grabs her swim bag and puts me on my leash. What she does next determines whether her brain is clear or misfiring.
If she keeps her bag on her shoulder and takes me outside, that means we are headed for the car. If she drops the bag by the door, that means she is taking me for a quick walk before putting me in my playpen to stay home.
I do everything I can to correct her error. I try to pull her toward the car. I keep leaning in that direction to remind her I’m ready to travel. Even as we head back to the door, I keep turning to face the car and pull. Surely she can understand such an obvious hint!
When that effort fails, and she puts me in my playpen, I bark as loudly as I can: “System error! Misfire! You’re about to make a huge mistake.” I jump up and down, throwing myself against the playpen mesh. Anything to get her attention and wake her from that fog she is in.
But she just says, “You’re okay” as if the problem is mine. She tells me to settle. Down the stairs and out the door she goes. I continue yelping, flinging myself against the mesh until her car is out of earshot.
Then I just settle down for a nap, knowing I gave it my best effort.
When she gets to my buddy’s farm, at some point she will realize she made a mistake and forgot to bring me. Maybe next time she will remember to take me along. That would be the right thing to do. It’s only natural that I should go with her to visit my friends.
Level Four: The Missed Inspection
Sometimes Miss Janet doesn’t leave the property. She just leaves the house. For what reason, I can’t imagine. Especially without me, her chief security officer and farm manager.
She closes me in the bedroom, and I hear her walk down the stairs. I protest as loudly as I can, doing my highest-pitch barking. It’s my attempt to warn her that she should not be conducting a property inspection or perimeter patrol without my supervision.
Through the window, I can see her in the yard, picking up something, moving things around, looking for something. What in the world? She is not equipped to do my job. She doesn’t have my keen hearing or sense of smell. She can’t navigate all the things out there without my expert guidance. She is clueless about backyard life.
Eventually she comes back inside. As far as I can tell, she hasn’t really accomplished anything. As she lets me out of the room, I give her a stern talking to and do a quick perimeter sweep to make sure no unauthorized creatures have followed her inside. When I see all is well, I sigh and settle. Hopefully she won’t do that again anytime soon.
Humans can be very strange, and they don’t always make the most responsible decisions when it comes to leaving the house. I do my best to keep Miss Janet corralled, but she has a mind of her own. Despite my best efforts, she goes wandering off and forgets to take me with her.
I don’t have high hopes for her to change her ways. But that doesn’t stop me from trying.
Barks and jumps,
Josiah
The Inquisitive Yorkie 