Two nights ago at 2:30 am, Taz woke me up, growling and barking. (He was growling and barking, not me.) I realized that it was a different bark than his usual “Wake up, I need to go outside and pee!”bark, or his “Wake up it's time to get up!” bark, so I reluctantly got out of my warm bed and followed him into the living room. I noticed that the fire in the fireplace was burning, the Cedar kindling crackling and ...Wait a minute! Who lit the fire?
Lately, in the afternoon I've been bringing in logs and kindling and laying a fire for the next morning, to take the morning chill off the house. There must have been some coals buried in the ashes and the fire lit itself.
When it sunk in that Taz had woke me because he knew something was wrong, I sat down beside him and petted him until he rolled over and let me scratch his favorite belly spot. “You're a good doggy!” I said, “You're a real good dog!”
I told Carol about it later that morning and we agreed that Taz was turning into an ace watchdog.
Last night about midnight he woke me again, barking and growling in the dining room. I jumped out of bed and hurried in to see what our ace watchdog had spotted. There he was looking at his reflection in a glass pane of the french door, growling ferociously, his hair standing on end. I sighed and closed the curtain. Taz looked up at me with a “Am I still a good doggy?” look on his face. I petted him, told him that he was a good dog and we both went back to bed.
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