Behind My Chair

Why would a 65-lb dog try to squeeze himself behind a chair in a corner?

I can think of one compelling reason: when Molly the Damned Macaw is out of her cage, Howie is likely to wedge himself behind my comfy chair in the bedroom, Sebastian tries to look miniscule on the side of my bed farthest from the door, and I ... well, I usually shut the door and hide with them.

But Molly was not out today, but Howie was just in to slither in back of my chair. The whole bed was available, and he usually sprawls there, gloating that he is allowed on the bed but Sebastian isn't.

Earlier today, Howie weaseled his way under my desk in the kitchen, where my other computer squats. There didn't seem to be any particular reason for that, either.

"Watch the animals," my mother used to preach. According to her, they would let you know if there were ghosts about, or evil spirits, or freaky weather on its way. Or earthquakes. Or untrustworthy people.

Two days ago, I was looking at the hook-shaped clouds in the sky and thinking that the weather service was optimistic about the nice-weather-no-rain scenario for the next ten days; today the weather report was for a "chance" of showers tomorrow morning. But the wind is definitely up tonight and something is coming with it. Maybe a thunderstorm, maybe a windstorm.

This house is too young for ghosts; the only evil spirits in the house is the bottle of Wild Turkey John has stashed in the cupboard; and as I said, the only untrustworthy creature in the house in in her cage. That leaves a storm, or an earthquake.

I'm keeping an eye on that dog. If he grabs some bottled water and heads for the laundry room, I'm going with him.