Vignettes

1. Pooka has just gone outside. She returns to the house. She eats dinner. I sit down to eat dinner. She begins whining to go outside again -- whine whine, walk to the door, turn to look at me, ears up.

I ignore her at first, then say, "Pooka, let me eat dinner first." She takes a few steps closer, whines, paces a little. She then walks behind me on the couch, and though I don't notice, stands with her nose very close to the back of my head. WHINE! Eeek, I jump. We go outside.

A day later, we repeat the little dance. When I still don't give in, she stomps her feet and tosses her head. She does some sort of snorty growly whine. And then starts talking -- or her closest approximation given her anatomical shortcomings. Rwaawwwwwwawawarrarrgggggh. I cannot help but crack up. Pooka, are you talking to me? But still, she wins. We go outside.

2. Pooka eats breakfast. I putter in the kitchen. She stares at me from the other side of the baby gate. I have an empty cereal box, so I insert a few treats and seal it back up. I hand it to her and she drags it into the living room. The clasp on the box was already shot, so instead of tearing the box itself apart she's able to stick her entire head right down into the box. I hear crunching. Then she swiftly picks up her head. Who turned out the lights? She lurches around for a few steps, pauses. Changes direction. I take pity on her and remove the box, but again, I can't stop myself from laughing. She's so silly.