A Dog’s Rant: Moving A Piano

I’d rather lie on every pillow in the house than type. But I persevered.

This week I’ve had several complaints about Babka the Dog’s lack of blogging these days. Well, I let her know that she was disappointing her fans, and she agreed to relay a story to you. You asked for it.

Humans are awfully demanding. I mean, I was perfectly happy sitting in the window sunning myself, when the Lady Servant so rudely interrupted and handed me her laptop. But I’m here now, and I have quite a good story for you today. 

So, you know I have this little sister now, right? Her name is Latke, and she is great. But she is also a little gullible. The little girl happens to panic when there is a thunderstorm. I tried telling her that the noise was no big deal, and we live in Florida, so she should put on her big girl panties and suck it up, but I wasn’t getting through to her. 

This is my little sidekick, Latke.

One day, during a particularly severe storm, Latke came over to the couch shrieking and whimpering (yes, at the same time… she is a highly skilled complainer.) This was shortly after she came to live with us in July 2014, and the human Servants had no idea that she had this fear. Stupid humans. Anyway, she came over to me, and I assured her everything would be alright. 

“How do you know? What on earth is that noise,” she asked.

“Well,” I told her, “there is a guy that lives upstairs from us, and he is a professional musician, and every so often we hear him moving a piano around to make it sound better.” Latke is not always the sharpest if you know what I mean, but she was right there asking questions.

“Who is this guy? Why have I never seen him? Where does he take his piano? And what the hell is a piano, anyway?”

I also like to take her toys. The humans call it “playing”.

I tried to keep from laughing. There is no guy with a piano. We live in a single family house. We have no upstairs neighbors. (The Servants have regaled me with tales from their last upstairs neighbor, though, and the whole situation sounds pretty awful if you ask me. But I don’t have to worry about any of that now.)

After several months of shameless mocking every time there was a storm, I finally told her the truth: There is no guy, there is no piano and the whole thing is just thunder. Then I had to explain to her what thunder is. “You know when it rains out? Sometimes there is a big boom to warn us that the storm is coming. It’s Mother Nature’s way of letting us know that she is about to start watering the lawn.” 

It seems I should have kept my big mouth shut. Now, every time Latke hears the slightest rumbling of thunder she beelines for the house. Every. Single. Time. Even if she is mid-poop. It is not pretty. Oh well, now the Servants have to deal with her. As for me? I’m going back to sunning myself in the window. And no, I don’t feel bad about lying to my sister. Apparently, I should have kept the charade going forever, kind of like Santa Claus. (I shouldn’t tell her that he’s a hoax, right?) 


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