Ziggy as ET

ET Ziggy
Saturday, May 09, 2015
Today I am grateful for Ziggy as ET. I promise the missives about Her Majesty, Queen Snuffleaufugus, the grunting bratwurst will be over soon, but I couldn’t resist this one.

Ziggy, herself, is a bit of a load-ass. She doesn’t move around a whole lot so she fits in here just fine. Until night time. We were warned that she will bug us about doing her night time “trick”, where she runs (yes, runs) for the thrown newspaper, rolls over, then gets a treat. I understand this because John does the same thing with me, only I don’t get a dog treat. I get a mini Kit-Kat.

Her trick is supposed to happen at 9 p.m. but she can’t read the time, so she starts bugging us as soon as the sun heads west. Actually she doesn’t bug me at all. She bugs John. . .by standing in front of him, staring, grunting, spouting forth with the occasional guttural woof and tap dancing like Bojangles.
“What?” he asks. “It isn’t 9 o’clock yet. Stop bugging me!” Grumble, snort, kerfluffle! “What do you want?” To me, “I don’t know what she wants, do you?” he asks.
“Leave me out of this,” I say.
Buck n’ weave tap-dance. “She’s staring at me.” Really? Watching John command a dog is great entertainment.
“I think she loves you because you walk around with a bowl of popcorn for half the day, getting only half of it in your mouth.”
Beady, steady, intense, go- through-your-soul stare!

“I can’t take it!” He throws his sweatshirt over her, expecting her to wrestle out of it like every other animal we’ve ever had. She doesn’t. Now we are both staring right back at her. We are all like playground bullies, each one of us waiting for the other to blink. She wins.

Three minutes go by and she’s still standing under the sweatshirt, like a statue. We start to laugh. Five minutes go by. We laugh harder. She’s a rock. Hasn’t moved a muscle. By seven minutes we are hysterical. She still hasn’t blinked. This dog should play poker! After ten minutes, with maniacal tears running down my cheeks and my stomach sore from laughing, I grab the camera just before John takes the sweatshirt off of her.

Grunt, snort, snorkel, woof-woof, tap-tap-tap. She’s right back at it! John goes to get her fetching newspaper and cookie, not caring a hoot if it’s “time” or not! I am in spasms of hysterical laughter, rolling out of the chair. I hope I get a Kit-Kat! Everyone wins.

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