Hamish and I are out in front of the house having a training session to freshen up the basics while Franny and Huckleberry watch us from the living room picture window.
“Hamish, sit,” I say.
“Why are you being so bossy, Raud?” he asks.
“I’m not. We’re training, so sit.”
“Why? My legs aren’t tired. If yours are, you should sit.”
“Why don’t you show me how.”
He slowly shakes his head. “I’m not falling for that.”
I hold up a treat so he can see it. “If you sit, I’ll give you this yummy cheesy cracker.”
He tilts his head at me, but not in that cute, quizzical manner, but more like the dog equivalent of a person putting their hands on their hips. “I’m no fool, Raud. That’s not a cracker, that’s recycled cardboard with a vague cheese-like flavor reminiscent of yellow sidewalk chalk.”
I look closer at the treat, take a tiny bite, and have to agree with him.
“See?” he says.
“Okay, so how do I get you to sit?” I ask.
“You can start by saying please.”
He tilts his head to the other side, a smile on his face. He’s gained the upper hand and knows it. “And I want real cheese, the same cheese you put on your grilled sandwiches.”
“Yes, I want real crackers, saltines, the big square ones, not those puny oyster crackers you put in the soup you won’t share.”
“And then you’ll sit?”