The Sentry

I have two sons. Both of them are in the military- one in the army and the other in the navy. I know their strengths and their character and Jan and I are very proud of them. They're extremely capable of doing whatever their duty requires, regardless of the difficulty. My dog, however, has pretty much fallen down on the job. Though we obviously didn't get him to be a guard dog, he has taken it upon himself to fulfill that position- a sentry if you will. I looked up sentry in the dictionary; it claims a sentry to be a guard, especially a soldier stationed to prevent unauthorized passage. In the top picture you can feel confident that the house will be safe, no intruders will get past this diligent fellow. Frame two:  Standing up on the back of the couch can be stressful on your legs-I'll just guard from a more comfortable position. Frame 3: This is boring. The sun feels good I'll just rest for a minute. Frame:4 Oh to hell with it. Who wants to be a sentry anyway? I'll just take a little nap. Hmmm... a little sleep, a little slumber and then will come sudden destruction. Fortunately we don't put too much stock in his ability to guard the house, although every time we leave we give him instructions to do so. He just looks at us with a questioning expression and waits for a word that he understands, like cheese or snack or eat. There are priorities in life you know. He's not totally useless as a guard dog. He's a pretty good protector of the lawn and will bark uncontrollably if there is even a remote chance that another dog will attempt to approach his personal toilet space. What I don't understand is that while he's yelping with teeth barred and the hair on his back standing at attention, his tail is wagging furiously. Wouldn't you know, our dog is as strange as his masters. I took him out in the truck yesterday. When he's asked if he wants to go in the truck and go on a walk at the cannery, he starts crying. He can't wait to go. He dances around on the linoleum, barking and crying and then charges out to the truck, waiting for me to open the door. Once inside though, it's non-stop whining and crying until we get to our destination and he gets out. He hates the truck, but I guess somehow he manages to forget from one day to the next. Even though he's none too smart, he's lovable, at least to us. If I could just get him to clean the window after sentry duty, he'd be just about perfect.