#Dog waits for signal before armpit time

You know what I want: The Signal. 

     It is late, nearly 11 pm and it is obvious to us that we may be minutes from going to sleep.  The question is: do we watch some more television or turn it off, go to bed and read a book until we can read no more.                                                                                   

      We look down towards the floor and there is Gizmo staring back at us.  This may be his time.  The stare is not threatening.  There is a calm, pleading, direct quality to it.  He is asking for something.     

        We know this is a tense moment for him.  He has been waiting a long time for the merest, slightest nod from us.  I move my head a few millimeters to the left.                                                                  

       That is all it takes.  Permission granted.  Job accepted.  Without coiling, without seeming to tense a single muscle, Gizmo is momentarily airborne.  His leap is sure, his direction pure: he is suddenly standing on the couch between Grace and I.  THIS IS HIS TIME OF GREATEST PLEASURE!!!     

          Then his head is nuzzling my armpit as he is pushing his face forward, his tail wagging as if he is keeping time for a marching band on steroids.                                                                                                   

      I have called Gizmo our Political Dog because he wants to greet and please every living thing he meets, even Republicans.  Now he proves that he lives personal notions of equality as he swiftly turns his attention to Grace.                                                                                                                  

          He pushes into her armpit, almost lunging into it, presenting his happy, wagging tail to me.  If he has managed to find some skin between her pants and her blouse, he licks (and sometimes gently nibbles) that area as if he has found the most delicious food ever to be discovered.                           

           Grace is giggling now, encouraging more rooting into her armpit, more mad tonguing of her side, more joyous exploration of his mistress.  She exclaims, “I love this dog,” and I agree.                

          Later, when we are in bed, after I have brushed my teeth and completed my increasingly complex ablutions (including taking the correct pills every other day, etc.), I feel energetic and joyous.  This is probably because my infusion that morning included a steroid, which tends to make me energetic and happy.   For me, a steroid is a good drug because it not only makes the other drugs I take to hold my multiple Myeloma at bay, but it gives me temporary, happy energy.                                                  

        I get into bed, move closer to Grace and put my head in her armpit, waggling is back and forth, pushing forward (no nibbling, my dog imitation will not go that far).                                                  

        Grace knows what I am doing and begins to laugh, but does not move towards me, offering a nice smile, a bit of gay giggling, but not an indication of intense, physical loving.                                  

          Conclusion: what works effortlessly for the dog in his interaction with a human is only partially acceptable to my wife.  Dog = one, human = ½.

       
"If a dog jumps in your lap, it is because he is fond of you; but if a cat does the same thing, it is because your lap is warmer."
Alfred North Whitehead