Sunday night markgritter packed his suitcase for his trip to California this week. Yesterday morning while he was showering getting ready to go, I got Ista out of bed. She is usually in a good mood in the mornings (yep, that's my dog), but yesterday was far beyond her usual morning happiness. The scruffing, the wagging, the licking, oh. I had to remind her twice what we were outside to do, because she was too busy twining around my legs and licking my calves. This is practically unheard-of first thing in the morning: she had an immediate and instinctive understanding of Why Dogs Go Outside First Thing in the Morning.
So. We went in and sat down in the library, where there was more scruffing and wagging and licking, and then she nosed my knee and went to the bottom of the stairs. Monkey, let's go upstairs. Fine. So I followed her upstairs. She went straight to markgritter's suitcase, nosed it, wagged, and said, "Arr arrrrrr?" I said, "Yes, Ista gets to go." Some sentences she puzzles out, but this is one she knows without doubt. Flurry of wagging, scruffing of bedclothes, knocking pillows around, looking at me with her head upside down and her wiggly little butt in the air, much dogly happiness. Little clown. Then she ran to markgritter's office and scratched at the door of the closet where we keep the suitcases. I pulled out the bag we use for her when she goes down to the folks', and she trotted downstairs to take up her post on her bench in the music room, watching for mormor1 to come take markgritter to the airport and take Ista for a fun week at Mormor and Morfar's Luxury Accommodations For Poodles until the steady monkey returns.
That dog is smart.