After a class last night, I got home and was starving.
So was Pete. Starving for attention.
So I popped a pizza into the oven to bake while I took him for a quick walk around the block. (He's trained me well.) It was cold out and even though I was bundled (two pants, 2 tshirts, sweatshirt, jacket, hat, gloves) we walked briskly.
All was going well until we came upon the dreaded curb drain. Cue menacing duh-duh-duuuuh music here.
When he realized the gaping hole was the only thing between him and I, he flipped. I tugged at the leash to get him on the sidewalk with me so I could avoid a step in deep slice (that's snow, slush, ice combo). But he wasn't having it.
All four paws braced, nails gripping the cement, belly low for better leverage. I couldn't get him to move.
So I did what any good pet owner would do.
Laughed at him and tugged even harder on the leash. When I still didn't have any luck, I either had to drop the leash or step in the pile of slice. Of course, I dropped the leash. Hey, it was frigid and I know he won't run off. At least I hope not.
Around the corner and with no more drains in sight, Pete was as happy as can be. And that was magnified when we got home and took the pizza out of the oven.
Little punk is such a good beggar.
What can I say?! He's trained me well.
8 hours ago