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Cooper's Commentary

Dogs are Mental Cases...

Cooper's not writing diary entries any more. I keep telling him not to click on just any old advertising link but he's in his own little world. After cleaning the malware off my machine, I've taken away his internet privileges.

Anyway, I thought I'd mention some of the stranger behaviour patterns Croopy has picked up over the last year or so.

When I watch TV, Cooper used to stretch out beside me with his head on my lap. However, he's now discovered that his favourite place to relax while I'm watching TV is to climb up behind me, up on the back of the couch, draped across my shoulders, with his back legs sort of stretched out and laid on the sitting part of the couch (i.e., his back legs don't support him; I do).

Cooper LOVES baths. Normally, he's an energetic terror, following me around the house, leaping in the air. If I lead him to the bathtub, however, he will jump in the tub and sit. I can then turn on the water. He does not move a muscle. As long as the water is running, he will sit motionless and let me bathe him and towel him off. As soon as I turn the water off, he explodes out of the tub and tears around the house like a hurricane. I guess I should consider myself lucky. =]

He also LOVES to play fetch. He will run after a thrown toy, bring it back, drop it at your feet and wait for you to throw it again... and again, and again, and again. If you ignore him, he will try to put the toy on you somehow (sometimes on your lap, sometimes balanced on your foot). He has discovered that he can get me to pick up his slobbery toy if he drops it in on of my shoes (i.e., one I'm not wearing). Failing all that, he will repeatedly pick up the toy, toss it in the air a little, letting it drop at your feet, presumably because he figures you didn't hear it hit the floor the last 37 times he dropped it at your feet.

Last, but not least, he loves his Mr. Octopus plush toy. Unlike his other plush toys, he never tears Mr. Octopus apart and eats him piece by piece. He rolls on his back and holds Mr. Octopus over his head with his front paws. He grabs the very end of one of Mr. Octopus's legs and spins around in a circle, giving Mr. Octopus an airplane ride (his back legs pivot while his front legs hop around in a circle). And sometimes, he will throw Mr. Octopus up in the air until it lands on his back, at which point he will walk around the house with Mr. Octopus on his back.

The best laid plans...

The slightly tangy human appears to have foiled my ambitious grand plan to eat his entire house. I've come to realize that I will likely not be able to finish eating the whole thing within my lifetime. It's those accursed ice cubes he keeps giving me! They waste so much precious time, yet I just can't help myself. I will give credit to the sweet (that is, sweet-tasting) human. He may not be as remotely intelligent as myself, but he is certainly crafty.

I've therefore abandoned my brilliant plan. Instead, I've taken up a less ambitious hobby of collecting rocks from the back yard and chewing on them. They're not quite as good as ice cubes, however. They're cold, but just a little crunchier than I'd prefer. Also, they stop being cold after a while and I get bored with them. I leave them in the laundry room and the tasty human takes them away when he comes home. He has a big pile of them now. Oh well, it's not like I want those ones; plenty more cold ones out back.

The savory human has lost his mind...

While I appreciate the delectable human's love and attention, it has sometimes become rather trying lately.

Normally, I'd just get the whole "who's a good boy!" spiel whenever I do something he likes. Recently, however, he has developed an irrational tendency to repeatedly ask the question, "who's got flooby goobers?". Apparently, the answer is: me.

Yes, according to my insane, yet flavourful human, I have "goobers" and it seems they are "flooby". I have no idea what on Earth he is going on about. I believe the full formal term he uses is "flooby croopy goobers".

He's gone completely mad. I'm going to eat his socks.