Sleeping on the Job

(Or… I do not care that you are home.)

Since Rocky passed, we are no longer greeted at the door with barks, howls, or yips. In fact, we’re rarely greeted at the door at all. Until Rocky lost his hearing, he *always* greeted us at the door with his booming bark and lumbering frame. I think Jacques just went a long for the ride because he didn’t want to be shown up. We had to navigate our way into the house through the obstacle course that was a giant dog (who had no ‘reverse’) and a small yipping, jumping dog that we were afraid of stepping on. Now… Now, Jacques is just lazy. Or doesn’t care. Or both.

I remember the first time I came home alone after Rocky was gone. It was so quiet as I entered the house. For a brief moment, I panicked thinking something had happened to Jacques. I moved quickly into the house, scanning for a white, fluffy dog as I went… and walked in to find this.



Yeah. He was fine. Nothing had happened to him. He was sleeping on the job and just couldn’t be bothered. He eventually sat up, stretched, and gave me a “What do you want?” look before remembering I was the one with opposable thumbs who could open the back door. Then he became a ball of furry excitement. I rolled my eyes, let him outside, and didn’t think much of the episode. Until… It happened again. And again. And again.

I no longer panic when I come home and am not met at the door. Instead, I head straight to the living room and find him perched on “his spot” on the back of the couch. I find him there about 80% of the time. I guess he a)1) really likes his afternoon siestas and b)2) feels that watchdog and/or welcoming committee duty is beneath him. Silly me. What was I thinking? Expecting a dog to bark when someone entered the house? That’s just crazy.


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