A Patient Hound

It’s Friday and as usual I am sitting on the stairway landing, staring out the window.  Technically, I am not allowed up the stairs.  But I’m not on the second floor yet, so I figure that the landing is a nice compromise.  Through the window I can see my neighbors’ front yard and the sidewalk.  I couldn’t care less about being sociable to my neighbors, but the sidewalk is of great interest to me in the evenings.

I have a powerful internal clock.  For instance, I know that exactly 9:30 p.m. I go to bed and at 12:05 a.m. I wake up for a drink of water.  I know that in exactly two minutes Alpha Dad should walk up the sidewalk.  I lay down on the landing and wait.

When I’m waiting for Alpha Dad to come home, two minutes is a very long time.  I count the seconds by thumping my tail against the wall.  One, two, three.  I lose count of the numbers- arithmetic is no interest of mine.  I’ve heard that patience is a virtue, but I know that basset hounds don’t need virtues, whatever they are.

Cat scampers down the stairs behind me.  It’s not fair- how come a fat and rude creature like Cat is allowed upstairs and I’m not?  The injustice of this all distracts me for a moment, but soon my focus is back on the sidewalk.

Sure enough, there is Alpha Dad walking up the sidewalk.  I rush down the stairs and to the back door, which I scratch with my paw until Sister Fairy lets me out.  I pounce out of the bushes just as Alpha Dad opens the gate.

“Woof!” I say, jumping on Alpha Dad.  My internal clock informs me that it is time for my a belly rub.

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