With a pregnant wife, I find that I am doing more and more chores around the house.  Traditionally, if it was outside of the house, it was my responsibility, and if it was inside, it was her responsibility.  Having a life form grow in the belly of your significant other tends to change that equation a bit.  (Has anyone seen Aliens recently?  *shudder*)  Bottom line:  I now vacuum where once I only cut the grass.

As you can see from the other information on the site, I am blessed with Trapper, a golden-retriever mix who elevates the meaning of spoiled to a new level.  He has gotten it into his thick, canine head that when the vacuum cleaner comes out, he should play the “damel in distress.”  This is a bit from the old, campy Western movies where a buxom young woman would be tied to a railroad track by a mustached villain to await the inevitable arrival of the hero.

A tennis ball or a rope bone serves as the damsel.  The vacuum cleaner is the train.  I am the villain.  Trapper serves as the hero.  Get the picture?  I run the vacuum over the floor, moving it in such a way that I make neat lines on the floor.  Trapper will run in, drop his toy on the floor in front of the vacuum cleaner, dash away, wag his tail, and then dash in to snatch it away from being crushed by the floor-sucking machine.  He will occasionally drop his toy on my feet in an effort to get me to throw it for him.

Where did he learn this behavior?  My wife swears that she didn’t teach him, but now we’re stuck with it.