Loyalty can have its drawbacks. Milo, being a typical German Shepherd, doesn’t want many friends, but the few he has he loves deeply and keeps close. Really close. All the time.
If I discover that someone is a German Shepherd guardian I can count on three topics of conversation because these dogs shed clouds of fur, were adorable as they grew into their ears, and don’t understand why people close the bathroom door.
Milo is no exception. Sometimes I’ll be in the shower, and he’ll just poke his big head in to say:
Just checkin’ that you’re OK. Everything alright? You sure? I’m gonna sit down right here and keep you safe. By the way, you know you’re not gonna smell like nothin’ when you get outta there right? I mean it’s your choice, but it takes a while to get a good smell cookin’ and you’re gonna have to start all over again now.
To avoid this constant bathroom company, you can, of course, close the door. But you are going to trip over him as you’re leaving. Is he guarding? Is he lonely? After all, you were in there for minutes and minutes. Is he just blocking cold drafts? Who knows. But, he will be right there.
My travel trailer has nine square feet of bathroom space. There’s not enough room for Milo to lay down. So, for someone camping alone you’d think that the primary purpose of the bathroom door would be to hide the loo from view when it’s not in use. Not if you have a German Shepherd.
“Watch ya doin’ in here?”
“None of your business.”
“Want some company?”
“I bet you actually do.”
“No, Milo, you won’t fit.”
“Sure I will. Watch. I’ll just back in over here, like this, humph.”
“Seriously Milo, get out.”
“Just a sec, I think I got it. Now I’m gonna skootch sideways like this, and wiggle my back end this way, and my front end that way.
“Milo, you’re testing my last nerve.”
“Wait, I almost got it. One little hop. There! Done! You see, no problem. We’re both in here. And we even get some lap time.”
Of course, training is an option, but it would require that I not laugh. I’m just glad he can’t open doors.