The Obsession is a Possession. She Becomes a Different Dog. Almost Maniacal in Her Behavior. Beer. She Says. I Need Your, Beer

 

I wish I shot video. 60-minutes of video. I grilled salmon and steak to accompany the mashed potatoes and green beans, and Chitunga picked up a couple of Sam Adams winter ales. I haven't been drinking much beer, although I love it, typically by the fire outside. We've both noticed that when a beer is open, Glamis becomes a new dog. It's not the cans. It's the bottles. She needs the bottles. She needs the ale in these bottles. Something takes over her body and psyche. It's eerie, but also comical. 

While watching New Orleans and Tampa Bay, this was my view. A mono-focused dog watching me take occasional sips of the bottled beer in my hand. Beluga whale noises gargling in whimpers of despair and desire. Chitunga is like, "Glamis, chill out. You ate. Leave him alone."

But she stares. It's creepy. It's desperate. She wants a sip.

When I finished the bottle, I held it to the side of the chair. Glamis came over to feed on it like she was a baby cow and Sam Adams was her mother's utter. She spent all the energy she could muster trying to get her tongue into the bottle neck, and when I'd pull it away from her, she'd bite the bottle and try to pull it away from me. 

I keep saying, "I don't know which relative you are, but you definitely are intense about getting to my beer. Who was reincarnated into you?"

No matter how much I tried to pry her off my chair, she'd find new ways to climb on top of me. She simply wanted to get at the bottle. This isn't new. It just happens when we throw back a couple of beers...bottled beers. She becomes a new creature.

This is Glamis as halftime was nearing. I held the bottle to my left when she climbed on my lap, and this was her face staring at the booze...the same, non-blinking, hypnotic stare. That, and the high pitched begging.

I want that beer. That beer will be mine. You have no idea how much I loved beer before I was reincarnated into a dog. I don't like water alone. All that dog food. Blech. But you have beer. Beer, I tell you. I must have that beer. I will not relent until you give me a taste of the beer.

It's comical, if not annoying, especially when she tries to take the bottle away from you with her teeth. You can't look away because she's a monomaniac. It isn't until the bottle is in the recycling bin that she finally gives up and returns to her normal, laid back, shedding self. 

Glamis is a great dog, and the beer behavior is not like her at all. Even when I eat, she'll somewhat beg, but she knows I don't give her much so she usually leaves me alone. Maybe she'll sit at my side hoping I do a Mom Crandall and drop food out of my mouth so it falls to the floor.

With beer, however. Oi Vay. It's such a longing...such a desire. I know there are memories in that doggie brain of hers that recall a time I've never known. Drunk nights at the bar. Relaxing with good friends at the campground. An addiction that one had to fix in the afterlife, but never did. 

All I know is that it is something. 

And she wants it.