Napoleon was one of those geniuses (except for that one time in Russia). He was a master of persuasion, he laid down the law (which is still in use in Louisiana), and he was a military tactician. My dog is the Napoleon of my house, and her name is Ella. …I’m totally going to be the crazy dog lady.
Ella is very persuasive, mostly because of how adorable she is. She’s like a giant dog in a tiny dog body. She has an extremely expressive face, and you can tell what she’s thinking by looking at her face. With an animal that expressive and therefore adorable, how can it not be persuasive? When she wants something–and that’s her favorite word–her ears perk up and her beady little eyes get really wide. And she just stares. And shifts a little. My willpower just melts into a puddle at her tiny red paws. Which she then walks all over.
Apparently, Miniature Pinschers are notorious for usurping authority. Ella is normally obedient, but she is subversive and is constantly pitting herself against me. “But, how is she subversive when she’s just a dog?” you might ask. Well, Min Pins are extremely intelligent. Ella has figured out that she can make me do what she wants by being annoying. She wants to go outside, she jumps at the door and barks. She wants to come inside, she jumps at the door and barks. For hours. It’s like a siege. She’s in it for the long haul, and she has the willpower to make it happen. For example: one time there was a ‘possum in our backyard. And those things are vicious so I wouldn’t let her out because I didn’t want her to get torn to shreds by this feral animal. She whined and barked at the door when I wouldn’t let her out. ALL NIGHT. I didn’t sleep. Her newest habit is putting two paws over the threshold of the kitchen when I command her to get out, just to spite me.
Ella is also a brilliant tactician. “Now that’s impossible” you might say. But let me tell you this: I was cooking steaks one night for my husband and myself. Now, Ella loves human food. She would do anything for food. She would sell my soul for food. (She goes in the gluttony box.) When I was done cooking one of the steaks, I put it on a plate and put it in the center of the table because I knew she had a penchant for jumping on the chair to get to the table so she could eat the food. Normally, my tactic solved the problem. But not this time. She wanted that steak real bad. So what does she do? She pees on the floor several feet away, knowing that I would get angry and clean it up. And she knew it would buy her some time. So while I was cleaning it up, she jumped on the table and stole the steak. It was brilliant. I let her have the steak. She earned it.
I wasn’t lying when I said my dog was Napoleon.