Frodo wakes up and slowly crawls off of his couch cushion. After years of Frodo lying there, the poor cushion has lost all of its shape. It has a huge dip right in the middle of it. Frodo yawns as he stretches his legs and lazily gets down from the couch. When he gets to the floor, he does one last stretch and walks to the front door and rings the bell to go outside.
I let him out onto the back patio. He stops right outside the door after he feels the cold weather, but he goes out anyway. He hates the snow, even though it’s almost all melted. He refuses to take one step into it. His usually white looking fur looks more like a shade of tan compared to the sparkly, white snow.
After he spends about two minutes outside, he comes back to the door and begs to come in. He looks up at me with pitiful, little puppy eyes. I try to resist, but he forces me to open the door. He knows it works. Every time he really wants something, this is what he does.
Frodo comes inside and takes a sip of water and eats his food. He slowly munches one piece at a time until he is satisfied. He walks over to the fireplace to warm up. His favorite thing to do is bark at all the people and cars passing out the window. He does this for hours, just staring out the window, sitting in his chair, and waiting for someone to bark at. Then, when everything he needs to do is done, he jumps up onto his cushion, spins around in a couple of circles, and falls asleep to, in a couple of hours, start the routine all over again.
Title is from “Barking at the Moon” by Jenny Lewis