Posted: May 18, 2008 in Uncategorized

Follow me here, children…

It’s that time of year, well for most of us at least. What time of year might that be you ask? The cold grip of Mother Winter has faded into the blissful warmth of the Spring sun. In addition to the sun, of course, are the bouts of rain that help to make my part of the world nice and muggy. Add the aforementioned sunshine to the aforementioned rain and what do we have? Mowing time!

I had a little experience early in the week that I would like to share with you. This story is less of a testament about mowing (boring, I know) and more about the scary intelligence of our domesticated, four-legged friends. Here’s the set up and preface:

I get home the other day with the intent of mowing my lawn. The sky looked ominous and I figured I should get off my ass and chop that greenery before it got any more unmanageable. So there’s the set up for you. The preface is that I do not deadbolt my front door when I get home. The second preface is that I leave my dogs inside when I mow. Now that we have all of that straight, allow me to continue…

Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to mow I go. Out my sliding glass door in my basement and into my backyard I tootle, and 30 minutes later, VOILA, the yard is mowed. Upon completion of this delightful task (no sarcasm there, I love mowing), I realize that I have worked up a thirst. I walk over to my sliding glass door and attempt to go inside. It’s locked. Hmmmm…interesting. So I try the door again. Yep it’s locked. What the fuck-balls is that all about? Moreover, my loving Aussies are nowhere to be found. Considering that I cannot lock the sliding glass door from the outside, and I cannot make visual contact with my pups, I naturally become a little concerned.

I leave the backyard and head to the front door. As I mentioned previously, I do not (ever) lock my deadbolt when I get home. Knowing this, I figured I’d have no problem getting inside from the front door. I approach the door, grab the knob, and WHAM! My face hits the front door as the door fails to open because, you guessed it: it’s deadbolted. Slightly panicked I return to the backyard and try to force the sliding glass door open, to no avail of course.

At this point, I see my dogs at the sliding glass window. Both of them have this devious look in their eyes (I swear they were laughing at me), and as I try the door for the fourth and final time, they bolt back up the stairs and out of sight. Cutting to the chase, I realize there is another way to get into the house via my garage. Into the garage and to the door I go, and surprisingly, the door is unlocked and I am able to get into the house. Upon entering the house, I see my dogs on the stairs, and they look shocked that I was able to get in. After throwing me a look of utter surprise, they take off back up the stairs as if to get as far away from me as possible.

I make my trek up the stairs and turn the corner, and what do I see? Stuff, and I mean stuff, strewn all about the living room. A torn up magazine, a bag of sunflower seeds, two cups, and cushion stuffing have all been scattered across the room and into the dining room, and sensing my quickly rising blood pressure, my dogs fly by me, back down the stairs, and into hiding.

So after all of that, you may be wondering why I am telling you this story. It is quite simple: my dogs locked me out. Using their brains, and most likely an invisible opposable thumb, they were able to keep me outside so they could have their way with anything they could get their grubby little paws on. Herein lays the moral of the story: don’t underestimate your pets…much like children, they will one day out smart you.

We be big pimpin’ spendin’ cheese
–Jay Z


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