So I’m finishing my coffee this morning with Cleo at my feet under the dining room table, and I tell my mom, “I’m gonna go rub a dog belly – then check my email – then I’m out of here.”
So I go crawl on my hands and knees on the living room floor – and the dog doesn’t move. I pound the floor, I call her name, she looks at me – but she doesn’t freaking move! Oh no, Mom’s in the kitchen, so there might be food.
“If you don’t get over here, you’re not getting a belly rub,” I warned her, and belly rubs are Cleo’s most favorite thing in the whole world – besides food.
Apparently I’ve made a tempting enough offer for her to get up – move an inch – and promptly sit right back down again. She only got up when she thought Mom might have food in the kitchen (she didn’t).
I don’t get no respect.