Living with Orso is comparable to living with a rebellious teenager. Every conversation is an argument. A conversation with a teenager goes something like this, “Honey I need you to clean up your room.”
First you get an explosion of expelled air then, “What’s wrong with my room? It looks fine to me.”
“There are clothes all over the floor and I’m down to three dishes in the cabinet to eat dinner on, please go clean up your room.”
“I know where everything is. Besides it’s my room and I like it like it is.”
With Orso I’ll look at him and say, “Sit.”
He looks at me and says, “Woof.”
I repeat my sit command again, and get the same response, “Woof.”
Now my voice is a little louder and sterner, “Sit!”
To which I get, “Woof woof!”
Now I’m about to lose my temper and the ninety-five pound stinker knows it so he sits and has the audacity to sit there and wag his tail like he’s done something wonderful. As every parent does, I look skyward for guidance and patience, lots of patience. Everyday it’s the same, I tell him to do something or pick up my purse to go somewhere and all I get is sass. Just like a teenager.
I wonder when and where I lost control and what made this dog start to question and argue with me every time I speak. Just like a teenager. According to medical science dogs supposedly age seven years for each 365 day cycle. That would make Orso forty two, hardly a teenager, so is science wrong or is he just eternally going to be this annoying?
I must be cursed, I have already raised two sons to adulthood (luckily they survived) and thought I was past teenage attitude. Evidently not.