Kadi, you're it!

Butch tagged Creekhiker’s Mabel with the “Eight Things” meme, and Mabel, in turn, tagged Kadi. I’m glad she did, even if it means more typing for me, because Kadi keeps score of things like that.

I have to say that in all my life I’ve never personally known a nicer dog than Kadi -- “nice” in the sense of always behaving in a way designed to get in the good graces of the people around her. What’s charming about it is that the “niceness” doesn’t seem to come naturally: The girl has a couple of, shall we say, flaws. And insecurities. Still, she deserves extra points for working around the clock to be the best dog she can possibly be.

This is how I imagine Kadi would respond to the “Eight Things” meme:

EIGHT THINGS YOU DON’T KNOW ABOUT ME
By Kadi

1. Everybody says what a good girl I am, and, not to be immodest, it’s true. That’s because I really like to please people. If it weren’t for the shedding thing, I’d be perfect.

2. I can’t decide if the prettiest thing about me is my freckled nose or my amber eyes. I get compliments on both of them all the time, so I don't think it's just my imagination that people like to look at me.


3. Despite my good looks, I’m older than my human “mom,” at least in terms of dog years. But it isn’t because of my age that I'm in charge of the house. On the contrary, I gained that position by virtue of my life-long, natural ability to spot anything that’s out of order and call my people's attention to it. Like yesterday, for instance. The power was out when my mom left for work, and while she was gone, the lights came back on. When she came home for lunch, I didn’t greet her the way I usually do. Instead, I hunkered down in my bed with my head scrunched down and my ears laid back, you know, just to show her I realized things weren’t as she’d left them and I was sorry. It was beyond my control, but I still wanted to be sure she knew it wasn't my fault that the lights came on.

4. I’m smarter than my brother, Butch, whom I helped raise from a pup. He knows it, too, even though he acts like he couldn’t care less. Sometimes, when Butch and I are both lying on the floor, I see him get up and move toward the sofa. He’s a little slow (because he’s blind), so I get up fast, take a shortcut, and jump up on the seat next to our mom. It‘s so funny when he finally gets there and smells me in the place where he intended to be. I sit there and look down at him and smile. Usually he just moves over to the far end of the sofa and climbs up there, but sometimes my mom makes me move instead. (She doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.)


5. I pretty much do everything I’m told to do, except sometimes, when my mom holds the door open and asks if I want to go outside, I plop down into a sitting position so she’ll know I don’t really want to go. If she insists, I do it to please her, but then I might give her a dirty look so she’ll know I’m only doing it for her. I've totally mastered the art of cross-species communication, using nothing more than body language and the expression on my face.

6. I consider Kim, Lucy and Winston as part of my immediate family, and I’m happiest when they’re all here with Mom and Butch and me. I indulge the pups by playing with them (which Butch certainly never wants to do). Plus, I get to boss them around. I’d never hurt them, of course, but I do have to head-butt them once in a while to keep them out of trouble.


7. Oh, let me tell you about this: One time when Lucy and Winston were annoying me, I made a really mean face at them, wrinkling my nose and baring my teeth. It scared them the way I wanted it to, but then, ohmigosh, I realized my mom and Kim were watching me. I hurried and smiled at Mom and Kim, like the joke was between us and I was just teasing the pups with the mean face. Whew! I don't think they caught on, but that was a close call.

8. In the past six months, I’ve finally found my voice. I used to ask nicely for treats, you know, tap-dancing around and letting out cute little “rrrowr-rrrowr” sounds, but now I go stand facing my mom and bark demandingly. Every single time I do it, she tells me, "Kadi, stop that barking!" As much as I’d like to accommodate her, the truth is, she’s quicker about getting up and getting the treats when I bark, so what's my incentive to stop it? Besides, I’m getting old. I have neither the time nor the energy to stand around and wait for some old woman to decide she’s in the mood to do something nice and give me a treat.

I really am a good dog -- almost perfect (did I mention that?) –- but this being in charge of absolutely everything is a lot of hard work. I only hope everyone understands and appreciates what I go through. Sigh.