Louie has adopted the mentality that he's an entitled pup. I mean, just because I broke his leg doesn't exactly give him the right to have extra privileges, right?
You'd think the dog would have learned that being under my feet isn't a good place to be. I'm a clutz. Period. Being near me is good, just not where you can be injured. But no, he's still right there at the end of my toes, waiting to be tripped over again. The kids are convinced that he wants his other back leg broken so that he can get a wheeled cart and hook it to me like a trailer. I'll admit, he'd love that, Louie would.
We don't allow dogs upstairs because of allergies and dog-hair-free sleeping and all that, but Louie now thinks he needs to be upstairs with me. He managed the entire staircase all by his 3-legged-self and was thrilled to find me in the sewing room. I went to pick him up to take him downstairs but he knew he was busted and ran down himself. The giant cast got hung up 2 steps behind him and I had to rescue him from himself. It was at that point that I decided to just carry him up the stairs with me when I go up, or gate the bottom.
I've no idea where he gets this entitlement mentality, really.
I decided last week to take him to the vet on occasion when it's not his turn to be there just to show him that sometimes he goes places and isn't manipulated to induce pain or stabbed with a needle. Jill had to be seen for a skin condition (kids are like dogs, aren't they? Always something...) so I took Louie with. Seeing that dogs are all sorts of nervous at the vet's office, I decided that setting Louie on the bench beside me was a safer place for him than on the floor where Jill could trip over his leg repeatedly with her pacing. At one point, she placed her front paws on the bench to have me pet her for reassurance. Louie was not happy with this and growled at her. (Mental note, when a frenchie growls it's hilarious. They are best friends with everyone and their third cousin.)
So Louie thinks that he is entitled to have me all to himself.
He also faux snarled at Darla for doing the very thing Jill did while at home. Louie was laying at my feet while I sat on the sofa, Darla jumped up to say hi to me, and Louie was on his 3.5 feet in .035 seconds to let Darla know that I was HIS mom. Darla was unfazed because I was her mom first. She looked at him like he was a toddler trying to sit at the adult table on Thanksgiving. Louie was very perplexed because she didn't care. And neither did I.
I laughed. That small, cute, entitled puppy has a lot of life to learn.