Time to give them their heartworm medication! The stuff these guys get comes as a “delicious meaty treat” that all dogs love. And as a rule, they do. They eat them right up like treats and as they are rather small, they wait around for a chaser.
Treats are given in the kitchen. We hand them their treats, then hear their little paws clicking madly over the pseudo-wood floors. It is such a funny sound since Scotties don’t bound or gallop but rather trot or, as the prompt suggests, scamper. I laugh whenever I hear it.
Gibbs refused to eat his meaty treaty because … are you ready? I handed over the pieces in the living room rather than the kitchen. Uh huh. He would not eat it because I delivered it in the wrong room. He put it in his mouth, looked at me, and dropped it behind the computer table.
After moving the table and finding it on the floor, I dusted it off and looked at him. These little meaty treats run about $10 a pop (and that’s on sale), so you don’t drop it then look me in the eye with that “And what are you going to do about it?” attitude. I told him to eat it or else. I’m not sure what else might be, but I would have thought of something. Eventually.
He got the point. He ate it. Very slowly, staring at me the whole time. What a brat!
I used to think he was “like this” because he had a deprived and abandoned puppyhood. Clearly, I failed to realize he is a proper Scottish Terrier and therefore has attitude problems. He joined our home and in just a little more than a year, he’s spoiled. Rotten.
It must be us. Whatever dog we get, they all turn out rotten. They treat us like slaves and worse, we act like slaves. I yelled at him. Garry said it had upset him, so he took him to the kitchen for another treat.
“He doesn’t like it when you yell at him,” he explained.