Levitation, and the fine art of intimidation

Yesterday I was sitting at my computer desk in the living room when I heard a crashing and scrabbling from the dining room. I looked in to see Finley chasing one of the cats up onto the dining room table. One of the chairs was pushed out, and he climbed up the chair and onto the table so that he could continue mouthing and wrestling with the cat.

I went in, told him what I thought of his antics (with some amount of how DARE you hands on the hips indignation and outrage), pushed the chairs back under the table, and went back to the living room.

Not even ten minutes later, I hear another scrabbling and crashing and look in to see the 51.1 lbs of enthusiastic bulldog once again perched atop the dining room table, pawing the cat.

The chairs were all pushed in, so the only way he could have gotten on the table was by leaping straight up from the floor. The Amazing Levitating Finley! For a guy who is built like a small tank, he is remarkably athletic. I was impressed.

But also angry! Because dogs, they do not belong on my dining room table! With cats under their rather meaty paws! It is against the rules, a point which I clearly failed to effectively convey the first time. I put my hands on my hips, made myself very big, and told him in stern tones that the table was off-limits, and what on earth did he think he was doing jumping up there to chase cats, and he'd better not consider doing anything like that EVER AGAIN, and I waved my arms around and raised my voice and looked straight at him, and so on, and so forth.

I was hoping for apologetic. I was hoping to come off as so crazy that he would never, ever, ever consider putting his feet on the table ever again. Instead I apparently signaled to him that it was woohoo playtime woohoo!!!, so he jumped up and tried to wrestle with my arms. D'oh. Oops.

However, when I turned around, I saw that I had managed to act crazy enough to intimidate The Bitches into feeling very, very apologetic. For something, anything, it doesn't even matter what, but I'm sure they'll never do it again.

Sometimes teaching is a matter of trial and error, and sometimes you land, with a big embarrassing kerthud sound, on the side of error.