The Hissing of Winter Dogs

[madrobins]

I am lying on my bed typing. The Emily is lying on her bed next to my bed. She is in despair. I can tell she is in despair because a high-pitched whistle of dismay is issuing from her, sort of a cross between a whine and a sigh, but in dog.

Me: Emily, it's 3:22. It's not time for dinner yet.

Emily: **Despair.**

Me: I'm not going to feed you yet. You've been run and watered and squeezed. I'm working. Shush.

Emily: **Despair!!** (sucks in her cheeks to show how starving the dog is) **Woe!!** (the whistle becomes louder).

Me: Ignoring you.

Emily: (deep gusty sigh. Baleful look. Return to whistling.)

Cell Phone: (plays the Spouse's ringtone)

Emily: **Daddy would feed me! Daddy likes the dog.**

Me: Hello? (Several minutes of business chatter with the Spouse)

Emily: (Now whining loudly enough to be heard over the phone)

Spouse: She agitating for dinner already?

Me: How well you know your family. (To Emily) Ignoring you.

Spouse: Ignoring me? Hey--

Emily: **Help! I'm being held prisoner by people who do not feed the dog! Call the ASPCA! Call the ACLU!**

Spouse: Maybe you should just feed her?

Me: (Weakening): It's 3:35. The sun is over the yardarm somewhere.

Emily: (Dancing in premature joy) **COMPROMISE YOUR PRINCIPALS!**

Me: (Heading for the kitchen) Okay, dog.

Emily does the dance of dinner (I throw her a few kibbles to keep her eye-snout coordination sharp, mix in the wet food, and make her sit until released to eat) and vacuums up her meal.

Me: Happy now?

Emily: (Returned to her bed. Snores.)