I get no respect

Angus's crate is his kingdom and his domain.

I tell you, Angus is just flat-our weird. Either that, or he's playing me like a violin.

And since he's part border collie, and therefore smarter than I am, it's probably the latter.

But why?

For instance: This morning, I pulled out Rosie's leash and Angus's little red harness and sang happily, "Who wants to go for a stroll?" in my most excited sing-song voice. Rosie raced up to me and sat. Angus shot out of the kitchen, rounded the corner on two legs, and dived into his crate.

I could not lure him out for blood nor money (nor kibble).

He's been doing this a lot lately, at walk time.

He only does it for me. Not for Doug. Not for Mary the dog-walker, who seemed surprised by my question and said he has never shown anything except enormous enthusiasm and joy.

Yeah.

I laid down a row of kibble bits leading from the crate door to me, four feet away, hoping to lure him out. He just gave me that look. He's been giving me that look a lot lately, as he starts figuring me out.

A fine example of "that look."

 "I can wait," I said, and sat back on my heels.

Rosie, bored, walked up and hoovered down the kibble like it was a line of cocaine. Angus just watched from the depths of his crate.

I reached in and dragged him out by the scruff of his neck and wrestled him into the harness. It's a perfectly easy harness, nothing over the head or face; it just Velcroes around his shoulders and then tucks under his front legs and snaps over the back. Easy peasy. Plus, adorable.

So I got it on him and turned to get his leash from the closet, and zip! he was gone. Back into his crate.

Once on the walk, he was fine, joyous, plus he did his business immediately, so what was with the stalling?

Other things: He comes down the main staircase now. For Doug. Not for me. I still have to carry him. If I walk away callously, leaving him at the top, he whimpers pathetically.

And when I come home from work, he jumps all over me, biting my hands, snagging my sweater, rocketing up toward my face. (For Doug, he races outside nicely and pees.)

Is this what it's like to be a mother?