The Shamus Chronicles: Manners and Moods

by Betty Poole

Shamus is turning into a spoiled boy. This manifestation is probably all my fault, and now I am going to have to explain to him that his present bad manners are, in the modern vernacular, unacceptable.

Shamus has his dinner at 3 P.M. so that there is time left in the daylight hours to see that he gets enough outdoor exercise before bedtime.

I have my dinner on a TV table while listening to the news around six o'clock. Since Shamus always likes to know what I had for dinner, I always leave a bit for him on my plate.

While I am eating my dinner he lies down and pretends to be asleep, but as soon as I put down my knife and fork he leaps to his feet and is at my side, eagerly surveying my plate.

Last night, however, I ate all my ration. I must have been deep in thought or extra hungry. O perhaps I just forgot. In any case, t must have been an unforgivable oversight in Shamus' mind. For and hour or so afterward Shamus followed me from room to room looking by turns downcast, sulky and accusing. He then signaled that he wished to go outside. A minute later he was persistently demanding to be let in. Upon admittance he rushed headlong into the bedroom and spent the rest of the evening in dark solitude.

Today is Sunday, and we are staying at home in order to do a few necessary things around the house. Shamus is behaving insufferably. When I am doing something in my small kitchen he stands in front of me, staring fixedly and wagging his tail expectantly. When I move to any other place he follows me - relentlessly. When I usher him outside he stands at the door and barks.

Tonight I must remember to leave a little something on my plate.