Life With Arlo: Basement Edition

When Arlo was just a puppy, the cats used to escape to the basement because the solitary dog in the home didn't understand how steps worked. He'd lie at the top of the stairwell and whine, wanting to reconnect with his feline friends in the worst way, but unaware that he could simply walk downstairs to reconvene with them.

When he was a bit older, we went to my friend Victoria's house for a playdate with her dog Beaker. I believe it was at that point Arlo learned he could venture up a flight of steps. Beaker modeled the behavior, and with some serious trepidation, Arlo gave it a go. Coming down was TERRIFYING, but he somehow managed to accomplish that too.

When Augusta moved in with us and discovered cats for the first time, NOTHING stood between her and her feline friends. She loves them too much and they essentially hate her, so I was forced to block off the basement with a baby gate. Said baby gate has been in use for years, but I've recently needed to relocate it due to some construction taking place in the basement. Currently, no one (dogs and cats alike) is able to exit the kitchen and venture down to the basement unless I, Hannah the Gatekeeper, allow them to do so.

I allow Arlo to explore the basement when he comes in from outside. Rather than herd him back into the kitchen, I give him the opportunity to go downstairs, and to this day, it is still a VERY BIG production for Arlo to go up and down a flight of stairs. He needs to build up to it. And he's not graceful about it at all. He gallumphs his way down, and then he gallumphs his way up. The energy he employs to clumsily carry himself from point A to point B erupts from him in a burst of gusto! He has the speed of a sled coasting down a snow-covered hill and the elegance of Elaine Benes on a dancefloor.

Today Arlo ran the stairs many times. Wanting to come in from the wild outdoors of my backyard, he flung his entire body against the door (as he so often does), and persistently barked until I acknowledged his desire. Then, once again inside his beloved home, he ignored my wish for him to follow me into the kitchen and, with wild abandon, thumped his way to the basement.

Then he ran back up, declined the offer of a dog biscuit in the kitchen, and disappeared yet again to the basement.

Then he ran back up, barked a playful request that his sister follow him (she refused), and disappeared again to the basement.

Then he ran back up, an empty box of dryer sheets clenched in his jaw, and begged to be released once more to the squirrel-riddled lawn on the other side of the door.

Five minutes later, guess what he was doing. That's right! He was back inside and repeatedly following his new favorite route from the first floor to the basement.

This dog makes me tired. I really wish he'd make himself tired. Perhaps I'll open the gate and send him down to the basement for his twenty-eighth visit today... and then his twenty-ninth... and then his thirtieth... and then his thirty-first...