My dog is angry at me. He knows I’m going to California soon without him. So, he’s protesting this trip by trying to keep me awake. 

He dragged me out of bed last night on the pretense that there was a thunderstorm. When there is thunder and lightning at night, he crawls on top of me and says, “there’s thunder and lightning. We should go to your office.” 

I don’t know why he thinks my office is safer than the bedroom (or any other room in the house). But he does. I could ask a pet psychiatrist I suppose. But that would probably involve phone calls and paperwork —both of which Gizmo and I oppose. 

Today, I tried to get a 30-minute nap in, but his grudge continues. About 10 minutes in, Gizmo decided that on the outside chance the Amazon delivery driver might be up to shenanigans, he better bark until my alarm went off.

Deep down, I think he’s protesting that he hasn’t been invited to go. Our dog is a rescue dog who came from California 10 years ago to live with us in Indiana. Maybe he misses the beach. Or maybe he just can’t find a decent fish taco in the Midwest. Maybe it’s the indignity of having to go to the bathroom in the backyard in February. I suppose I would be too. 

He’s cute, but don’t let him fool you. About a week after we got Gizmo, I was walking him and told my neighbor he was a rescue dog. She said he didn’t look big enough to save anyone. (Hand to God, I’m not making that up.)

I’m pretty sure he was offended by that slight because later, her dog dropped dead of a heart attack. Residents began calling our dog “Dog Corleone” after neighborhood kids started the rumor that Gizmo put out a hit on our neighbor’s dog.  

I can neither confirm nor deny. But if the house is burned to the ground when we get back, it won’t be because our son is staying here. It will be because I wasn’t able to get back on our dog’s good side before leaving. Gizmo never forgets. 

Carry on, Citizens!