After dinner, I’m by the fire, sitting on the couch, writing. I’ve been doing this for some time. Lola comes in front of me, stands there, whimpers. I keep writing while the whimpers turn to whines. I say, what do you want? I try to see if she wants to go outside (no), go upstairs (no), get up on the couch (no). Frustrated, she gets a fake bone she sometimes chews on and stands in front of me again.
Ok, so you want to play. I try to take the bone away. She lets it go (rather than play tug-a-war with it). I toss it across the room. No, she doesn’t want to get it and have me throw it again. I get up, say, all right then, you want to go outside. I go through the dining room and out to the back door on the other side of the kitchen. Lola doesn’t follow me. She gets the bone again and stands with it in the doorway between the dining room and kitchen. Come on, Lola, I tell her, a bit impatient, holding the door going outside open. Nope, she doesn’t move. I realize then that next to the doorway in which she is standing is where I give her food and water. I had fed her, but she was still hungry. That’s what she was saying.
