Nothing funny about feldspar

Albite came running to me, fussing about the people who had the temerity to walk on the sidewalk in front of our his house. Barking at them apparently had no effect, so he was calling me to get my butt out there to do something.

To his great disgust, I ignored him. “But, Albite,” I crooned, “they’re allowed to walk there, and you know they do that every evening.” He just stared at me — ears up, eyes bright, willing me to Get Up and Do Something!

So I did. I stood up to see what he would do. He trotted a few feet away and looked back at me, then looked towards the front room. I took a step, and he ran ahead a few more feet. After a few more rounds of this, he took off for the front door, certain that I had finally got his meaning, and if I didn’t have to chase the strangers off, then, well, we might as well go for a walk in front.

This was probably his aim all along. “Go for a walk in front” is a big treat for him, because he is most emphatically not a Canine Good Citizen, so we don’t do it very often.

But when I got near the door, I veered off into another room. It was cruel, I know, but really for the best. He hates getting his ears wet, and it’s been raining on and off all evening. Poor guy. Maybe tomorrow.