I've written before about the stupidity of my dog, Fredo. Now nearing eight, he's recently shown signs of thought. When he rolls in his feces, for example, he knows that a bath is nigh, and he hides. We then engage in passive resistance. It's a scientific fact that when a dog goes limp, he increases his weight ten-fold. Throw in the skrieking in pain from having my hand touch his belly and you have one cunning strategy. It's inefftctive, but it's cunning. He similarly has figured out fake throws, which pretty much sucks all pleasure I can derive from playing with him. The list goes on.
"I'm afraid Fredo is getting smarter," I told a friend.
"Well. He sure wasn't going to get any dumber."
This morning I watched as his pee ran down my teak furniture to my concrete slab, where it pooled around his paws.