Personal Space

Let me be
My name is Creak, you dork! Not Speak. Speak is what you do. Now why don't you move over. The back of the Volvo behind the wire mesh is my area. Just because there isn't any room in the back seat doesn't mean you can take over my space. Christ, you're not even part of the family. You're that little turd who threw soccer balls at me last summer when you were six, before the age of reason, less than one in dog years, so I took pity on you. But now you're a big turd and if you don't move your leg, I'm going push it away with my paw, which was only recently used to kick away my poop back at the soccer field before we got into the car. So, it's your choice: dog-paw poop on your leg or move it. OK, it's the dog-paw poop. Let's see how you like it. Hey, you're not supposed to pick at it with your finger and then smell it. You wouldn't know what the smells are for anyway.

For your information, other dogs smell my poop and know immediately who I am. They even know I have arthritis. From that single sniff, they decide whether they like me or not. And me too. It's why I stuck my nose in your crotch when I first met you. I knew right away that you were a little turd. But, hey, you really seem to enjoy sniffing my poop. Maybe you're not such a turd after all. Here, rub my leg a little. It's kind of stiff and hurts from jumping into the back. Yea, right there. Hey, you're watching my face. You really understand what I like. You're not such a turd after all. Yes, rub up into my joints and around my neck. That feels very good. If I were a cat I'd purr, but you'll have to settle for a smile and a lick. We're almost home now, so let me get up so you can smell my butt before you leave. See you soon. Thanks. You're really a sweet kid. Have a nice day. Come back and see me. Don't be a stranger.

Oh, by the way... Can you help me down from the tailgate?