We got Macy in 2007 while I was working from home and ever since I thought it would be a good idea for her not to come to “work” with me. (I use quotation marks because work simply means our home office in the basement.) I didn’t want her to get used to chilling with me all day, and, more importantly, she doesn’t know how to control her barking sometimes. A problem during conference calls.
As such, I devised a commute to the basement that would make Macy think I was really leaving the house. I put up the baby gate in the kitchen (as we always do when we leave), tell her I’m going to work and to have a good day and then head out the garage. Only instead of getting into my car, I shut the garage door, tip toe in our front door and sneak downstairs to the basement. At lunch or when I’m “coming home from work” – same thing. Tip toe upstairs, quietly open and close the front door, open the garage and walk into the kitchen to be greeted by the pooch. Worked like a charm.
Until recently.
Obviously during my 15-month sabbatical from working from home, there was no sneaking around. So when I started working from home again in January (which my readers probably know nothing about since I haven't blogged in an eternity), I got back into the same routine as before. Let me tell you – if you are my neighbor or driving down Armstrong Street while I’m sneaking into my own house with coffee, water and a breakfast of some sort, it’s quite the sight. Regardless, the first few days Macy barked a lot more than I remembered. I e-mailed TFitch, telling him I either got louder or Macy got smarter. His response? “I guarantee the dog is NOT smarter.” But after what I witnessed this morning, I’m pretty sure she is.
I was sitting at my desk this morning and I heard Macy barking upstairs. Not unusual. Then, I realize it’s pretty quiet and I heard a sound I couldn’t exactly pin point. Then I figured it out. It was tiny paws scratching at the basement door. I thought about leaving her there, but then I thought either 1. the door would be scratched to crap come lunch time when I leave the confines of my basement or 2. she’s probably bleeding because I have NO idea how she escaped. I greeted the little turd and there was no blood but a big, huge smirky smile. Her face was a combination of “Hey! There you are! I’ve been looking for you!” + “Took you long enough – I’m exhausted” + “You bitch. Why would you quarantine me to the kitchen? I thought we were friends.”
More than anything, I had to know how Houdini dog made her way downstairs so I head upstairs to the scene of the crime. Baby gate still vertical (this is an entirely different story, but yesterday it wasn’t tight enough and she barreled through it). That tells me she didn’t push it over. I’m thinking she jumped over it, when I realize what she had done. There’s a small little indentation between the cupboard and baseboard (kind of hard to explain). There’s currently a five-pound dumbbell in the space because for a while she was pulling up the carpet there. (You’re not going to buy it from this story, but she really is a good dog!) Well, this morning, Muscleman Macy pulled the five pound dumbbell out and over to reveal the “hole.” This is amazing because she’s only five pounds herself. After that, she squeezed her five pound figure out of the hole and came downstairs to join me. Here's the process (or most of it) in reverse...
Judging by how hard she worked to free herself from the kitchen, I’m sure at some point she would have scratched her way through the basement door. This dog is driven!
And now, here she is, working with me until noon when we’ll see if the eight pound dumbbell will keep her contained. In the meantime, she’s plum tuckered and being a lazy little office assistant. If only she could fetch me coffee refills.
