Elvis Speaks

Elvis thinks you are a stupid sheep:

Hello! Yes, I am pleased to be a part of this pack that provides, but generally speaking you are kind of dumb and need so much work and direction. In the morning, it takes hours of soft, high pitch whining to finally get you out of bed. True, it is still dark and cold out but really why do you waste so much time in that bed, stupid sheep? Are you worried that you might forget to feed me? 

I know I am. 

Now that you are standing and starting to wobble toward the hallway, I shall have to prance and dart and spin you toward the kitchen. True, you might trip over me and break your neck but it must be done. This way you will know where to go. Without my circling and darting you might end up in the bathroom robotically and repetitively banging your against a random corner. I always have to provide you such positive reinforcement when I can see that you are getting closer to the end goal: the garage food source. Once there, I must dance frantically in the general direction of the food source so that you understand it is now time to feed me:

“This way! This way! You’re doing really well sheep! Closer! Cloooooser! Yes! Here is the food! Hooray!”

Once I have taken 15 seconds to eat every last piece of food in my bowl, I must dash around the yard to the back door because you have forgotten I exist and have left me outside for approximately six minutes. I have to bark as if it is my last day on earth for you to let me back in. 

Six minutes! 

The cruelty I must endure.

Once inside, there is much work to be done in the kitchen: stray waffle crumbs, remnants from last night’s dinner I overlooked, etc.  Busy, busy, busy. After dunking my face in my water bowl, I have a sudden need to sneeze and you are nowhere to be seen, stupid sheep! Where are you? I typically find you in your closet just as you have put on your pants, or as I refer to them: my handkerchief. I always find your pant leg just in time for my violent sneezing fit. It’s always a close race, but I never fail to locate you just in the nick of time. 

Now, I must hurry after the shortest sheep and try to steal his cookie before he leaves the house for the day. He is always such a whiner about it, too.  

Finally the little sheeps are bustled out and the only one left is the one who regularly sprays that hideous scent that as it falls to the floor I must extensively roll around in on the carpet to mask and protect myself from any predators. 

After a once over for stray cookie crumbs in the little sheep’s room, I am exhausted. I retire to my crate and slump into a deep sleep. As the last sheep says good bye, I grumble. Such an irritating flock. So much work and always with the chatting.

All day I try to catch up on my 22 hours of sleep. I mean I was outside for six minutes this morning! That trauma alone requires 17 hours of sleep to recover.

Later in the day, the flock returns and I must convince them to feed me yet AGAIN! When will they learn? After once again directing you to the food source in the garage, I must flee to the back door and beg mercifully to be let in after being outside for 4 minutes. 

FOUR!

I have to push that lady sheep into the kitchen and convince her to start dinner. What would they do without me? I must get that perfumed one into the kitchen pronto. Get out some pots and pans, lady sheep! 

Ooo old turkey scraps! Crusty bread! Carrot! 

She really does come in handy with the scraps tossed but I swear if I didn’t circle her ankles and try to trip her repeatedly the minute she walked in the door, dinner would never happen. 

YOU’RE WELCOME, FLOCK!

While the sheep eat, I visit my standard posts collecting what the short sheep throws into the air and what the little bit taller sheep sneaks me. Once they have finished their meal, and the short sheep is whisked into what must be torturous punishment into the bathtub, I detail his high chair. Truly an artistic endeavor.

Finally, it’s time for the main event. The flock has gathered in the living room, again with the chatting, and I have to first convince these sheep to let me back outside for my final excursion. I’m sure while I am in the yard they are preparing for my celebratory dance that I know they are waiting for. A few panic-stricken barks later they open the door, and I zip through the living room and around the dining room two to three times as fast I can go in an effort to announce my recent and healthy bowel movement! 

Yes, another artistic endeavor.

But sheep can’t appreciate culture.

So after the evening routine, I tire of this flock.

 I must return to the kitchen to ensure the leftovers have been properly stored. If any food is left on the counter, I simply cannot rest. So much work - I am exhausted. 

I finally retire to my crate for the evening asking only for silence from these noisy sheep.

Oh wait, belly scratch? Yeah, I can stick around for that.