What In The World Is He Thinking?
Romeo is in his own little world. Ever wonder what that world is like? Romeo has become adept at living “The Life of Riley”. He can make you smile just by looking at him as he sleeps.
He’s a funny little guy, a 2-year-old Yorkie who weighs about 6 pounds. We have had a number of Yorkies in the house because my wife thought raising them was a good idea. She was right because we ended up with Romeo, a purebred who was born with a medical issue. We decided we had to keep him which was a no-brainer.
He has become our house dog, along with his mama Gidget. Romeo is a lover. He loves to be held. He loves being in your lap or lying beside you. And he loves to sleep. He’s happiest when in your arms or in your lap. In fact, he is in my lap right now, sleeping, as I type this.
Romeo has two speeds. The first I call his “granny gear”… sleeping. The other is “full throttle” … running. Long, sleek, and fast, he loves to run. I let him chase me around the yard, but my being on the cusp of turning 70, I’m not as fast as he’d like, I think. Hell, I’m not as fast as I’d like.
Romeo has proven to be very similar to me when I was young. He has this uncanny ability to sleep anywhere, in any position, at any time.
In high school, I had a summer job working in the local parks maintenance department. We would get dropped off in the park with a mower, or paint and brush, and told what to do. So I did the work, busting my butt in the cool summer mornings of Buffalo, NY. My high gear.
But, then I would nap… in the bushes, on a picnic table, almost anywhere. I was a growing HS kid and needed my rest. Just as I am sure Romeo needs his rest.
One time, I was caught sleeping in a sitting position, legs crossed, on a curb, leaning forward, held up only by a paintbrush in my extended hand as I sat in front of the supervisor’s office. It took my boss over a half hour to realize I had not moved.
Romeo is the same. Sometimes I need to check to make sure he’s alive as he lies draped over the arm of the couch, head hanging almost upside down (his favorite position it seems).
We’re buddies, Romeo and I. We have this bond. He at times will share this incredulous look with us which literally cracks me up. He knows it too. If he were human, he’d be a comedian I think.
In fact, reminds me of Steven Wright, the comedian. Romeo must have a cd recording of Steven Wright somewhere he listens to. Looking at him, you just know there’s a joke in his little head somewhere. He’ll make me smile, but his face is entirely blank, vacant of any emotion. It’s the look that, well, just look at him!
So I give them all a treat once a day, about 11 am. Every pup takes this treat and goes somewhere to happily chew on it for a lengthy amount of time. Except Romeo.
Romeo takes his treat and, reminiscent of a cigar protruding from the mouth of the old guy who used to run the elevator in my Dad’s office building, he just stands there, looking around. And then he will walk around the house with this cigar-like stub, protruding still from his mouth, looking for a place to hide it.
I have rarely seen him chew his treat, which leads me to believe this house has treats buried everywhere. I found one under my pillow on the bed once. And outside also! I’m sure they are everywhere.
At times though, unlike the elevator guy with the protruding stub of a half-chewed cigar, Romeo will seemingly panic when he hadn’t found the perfect hiding spot.
He’ll pace back and forth in the room, and then from room to room. He’ll look at you, and then quickly look away. A short time after all this pacing stuff, he’ll reappear, staring at me. The treat was gone, hidden again. Romeo is satisfied. Mission complete.
So it’s become a game of sorts. I discovered that when I got close to where it was hidden, he would stand nearby, anxious, glancing to where it was hidden and then back at me. He was obviously worried. Or was he? I’d start looking for his treat and his tail would start wagging.
Just writing this makes me laugh.
A little looking around and sure enough, under a blanket, or in a crevice, there was his treat. Untouched. So I would hand it to him, and off he’d go, wagging his tail, the treat again protruding from his mouth like a half-chewed cigar.
As I complete this little story about Romeo, I went into the bedroom for my cell phone. Quietly, he trots by me, stops, takes a quick look around, and walks into the closet. Yep. You guessed it. A new hiding space.
Then what? I wait and watch from my chair. Sure enough, he’s now busy hiding it in Gidget’s bed in the living room.
I am resigned to the fact I will always be wondering what he’s thinking. Seriously, look at your dog and tell me you don’t wonder the same. But it matters not. He’s always going to be my little buddy.