Booker, in perfect Siberian Husky speak, told me he wanted a little sun-room time. For those of you who have never been around a husky, they have quite a large vocabulary that is comprised of more woooowooooâ€™s than barks. There is inflection and emotion in their sounds, and I often laugh when he is chewing me out for some imagined grievance. Woowoo woowoo woo! Okay, you sure told me off big boy, but you still have to sit before we go for a walk.
Booker prefers being outdoors most of the time. His thick winter coat made its appearance a month ago, and I suspect he gets too warm when heâ€™s inside our house for lengthy periods of time. But, since he was asking nicely, I decided to let him in for a while.
Instead of hitting the light switch I hit the overhead fan switch by mistake. The fan made a lethargic effort to circulate the air before I shut it off and turned on the light. For some reason, Booker freaked when he saw the slow overhead fan blades spinning shadows. He hid behind my knees and peered upwards. Never mind that I had the fan going all summer and he never once paid any attention. No. This was scary stuff and he wanted no part of it.
After a lot of coaxing and comforting he finally sat down long enough for me to pet him and to have a chat. â€œBooker, youâ€™re fine! The fan is not going to hurt you.â€ The entire time I was talking to him he sat staring at the fan blades. The look on his face was pricelessâ€¦sort of a cross between â€œI want to trust you, butâ€â€¦and â€œPlease, Lord, let her stop talking so I can go back outside. Please. Make. Her. Stop. Talking.â€
I stalled just long enough that I thought he had gotten over it. I was wrong. Never taking his eyes off the fan, he practically knocked me over in his rush to get out once I opened the door. He only paused long enough to grab the treat out of my hand and kept going. I mean, the dog does have priorities.
Knowing I have a fearless dog, unless a ceiling fan threatens, was the best part of my day.