Angus is a genius

Midway through Day Whatever This Is--Tuesday, only Tuesday. Still January. Early January.  I am sleep deprived. Mary the dogwalker is coming in a half hour to meet Angus, so I am toughing it out without a nap.  Katia from across the street has come and gone; she was surprised at how sharp Angus' claws are (little needles, they are) and I hope she wears gloves when she comes to let him out; she is a violinist and needs her fingers to be intact.

Angus has learned--did I teach him this? Or did he teach me?--that after he races back into the house (racing being the operative verb here--it remains bitter, bitter cold out, and his puppy feet suffer) he then SITS and WAITS for the reward of one tiny bit of kibble.

Just now I brought him into the front hallway to see if the skill was transferable, and it was: I said SIT and he SAT and I gave him kibble and then danced around in joy. He understands SIT!

He only has about eleven hundred other commands to learn (including WAIT, BACK, STAY, NO, CUT IT OUT, I TOLD YOU NOT TO DO THAT, DROP IT, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON'T EAT THAT, etc.) and he'll be on par with sweet Rosie Wolverine.

Earlier today, right after Katia left, they started playing madly in the living room--fighting, growling, one dog rolling on its back and the other holding it down, then the other rolled on its back, etc.--all the while with Rosie firmly chomped down on a bright yellow tennis ball. It was perfect--she couldn't bite Angus, not even by accident, and at times Angus would try to pull the ball out of her mouth with no success. A very intimate game of Tug.

Then out into the yard where it has warmed up to (or should I say "warmed up" to) eleven degrees and they ran and ran. I hoped it would wear Angus out until 3, when Mary gets here, but no such luck. He needed to go out by 2:15.

What will happen tomorrow, when I am not here to let him out? Is this when the psychological damage occurs?

I have written a book review, written a column, edited a book review, answered countless emails, and fixed a mistake on my Sunday pages and now all I can think about is sleep. Sleep and --what will Angus do tomorrow when I am gone all day?  That I can barely let myself think about. He is still just little!

Update: Mary came, and she pooh-poohed the idea that he needs to be carried down the back stairs. And sure enough, when she stood at the bottom and spoke to him sweetly, he catapulted down to her. Now she is walking Rosie, a godsend, since Rosie has not had a proper walk for a week (none of us does well when the high is five below zero) and Angus and I are playing tennis ball.  He is a sweetie, and enthusiastic.