My dog sleeps in the closet. It was his idea. He started sleeping on a pile of blankets and pillows, then we moved his bed in there.
Last night, he wuss barks in the closet a couple of time, “Whoop.” He’s a big dog, but he sounds like a chihuahua when his does this. “Whoop.” Scottie’s are tiny dogs that sound like they should be huge. “Whoop.” A Scottie barked at our house and I expected and Irish wolfhound.
Meanwhile, my husband and I are in bed, laughing at our dog.
Encouraged, Popeye gets up and wuss barks.
We laugh more. My husband whoops back at him.
Now he’s barking, sniffing around the door. He’s prancing and charging and making the type of noise you’d expect given his size.
I give him a giggly, “Nyeht.” That’s “no” in Russian.
Popeye ignores me. Shocking, I know.
We’re both telling him no, go lie down, but still laughing.
Popeye’s getting more wound up.
Finally I sit up and manage to be serious. “Go lie down.”
“Popeye, go lie down.”
He puts his face on the bed and gives me puppy dog eyes.
“Go lie down,” I say, and point at the closet. He’s smart, and he gets pointing (unless he’s really excited about food). “Go on.”
He walks toward the closet and whoops.
“Nyeht. Go lie down.”
After a couple of turns around his bed, he settles down. We try not to giggle at his last few half-hearted whoops. We’re mostly successful, and Popeye is quiet.