Mom and I get into arguments every once in a while and they are almost always over the dreaded baby gate that she puts up in the kitchen. It really bothers me because I do not like to feel like I am boxed in. It causes me great stress and anxiety. I am LOADS better now because I have grown to tolerate the gate, but I still hate it. Mom says that she needs to put it up when my ‘man-wraps’ are being washed or when she goes to the grocery store. The need to protect her carpet and me from getting hurt outweigh my loathing for being put in a prison. I do admit that I am being a little dramatic. Mom fixes up the kitchen for me like I am some sort of Roman god. I have food, cool water, and more comfy things to lay on than what a dog should be allowed, but it doesn’t mean I have to think everything is sunshine and rainbows when I am stuck in there. It’s not like it’s all day or anything. Just a few hours tops. Now, that I am thinking about it….maybe she has a point. She just wants me safe and still have nice things in her house. If the shoe was on the other paw, I would probably do the same thing. Hmm…maybe I am being too unreasonable. The jury is still out on that one. I do think a truce is in order though. I do act like I am in Alcatraz with no hope of escaping. There is no need for it, but don’t tell her that.
Well, that felt good to get off my chest. Take care of yourselves today.
Love, Winston
