And to her, I'm "Potty Guy".
I work nights and often arrive home around 4:00 AM when every other sane person is experiencing lovely REM sleep. I will be fumbling for my house keys and on the other side of the door I will hear the whimpering of a dog in distress. As soon as I get inside the door, Jasmine will run to our sliding glass door that leads to the back yard. There, she whines like she has been locked inside the house for days and forced to drink gallon after gallon of water. If a dog could cross her legs in the classic "gotta-go-now" pose, that would be Jasmine waiting to be let out.
And it's not like someone hasn't been home all day long to let her out. With four adults in the house, there is virtually someone here 24 hours a day. But for some reason, I am the "chosen one" for all things potty.
Julie and the kids are often up and around during the day while I'm sleeping. Any one of them is capable of unlocking the sliding glass door and letting the dog out to do her "business", yet she will wait until I wake up before she runs to the door and whimpers - her way of letting us know she needs to be let out.
"She was fine until she heard you" says my wife, Julie. "But as soon as she heard you she started whining."
And as long as we've owned her, we haven't been able to cure her of barking like crazy when someone comes to the door. Being part basset hound, she has a deep, throaty bark that is comical coming from such a short dog. One warning bark would be fine, but she has to keep barking until the visitor comes in or goes away. Makes it kind of impossible to have any sort of conversation with a person standing on our porch.
And she sees herself as my protector.....from my wife.
Occasionally, Julie will misconstrue something I've said or done. For instance, I once said, "Woman, make me a sandwich. Now." For some reason, this was perceived as being negative by my wife and she resorted to her low tactic of tickling me (which should be outlawed by the Geneva Convention as cruel and unusual punishment, in my opinion). Fortunately, the dog is always there to protect me should I fall victim of such a misunderstanding, which happens more often than one would think. She will bark at Julie and try to force her way between us, all the while Julie will be saying, "Jasmine...No!" Of course, I will be saying, "Good dog, Jasmine! Good dog!"
Right now, Jasmine is watching me type this blog. There is a sandwich sitting in front of me. She is watching my hands intently. If they even move more than a fraction towards the sandwich, her tail starts to furiously wag. She is obviously confused as to why we are not eating the sandwich.
As soon as we do consume the sandwich, past experience dictates that she will move over to the door and start whining to be let out.
But when all is said and done, I guess I'd rather be "Potty Guy" rather than "Cleaning up the mess guy."
