The instant I walk in the door from work, the dogs are bounding around demanding to go for a walk. Brio spins in circles like a dervish. Maple bounces up repeatedly to hit me in the back of the knees. Out out out! As if they've been incarcerated in a deep well for decades and only my presence allows them to breathe. Even when I know full well they spent most of the day out in the sunshine with my husband in the backyard.
If I am slow to respond...put my backpack down, get a drink, go change clothes, or - heaven's forbid - announce there's no walk today because I'm not up to it or there's a typhoon blowing or it's -45 outside, the dogs get increasingly hyper and frustrated and start fizzing and yipping as if there are mouse traps on their tails. Eventually Maple will get the message and subside. But Brio just grows more and more frantic.
The more he misbehaves, the more impatient I become, until I find myself snapping at him, shouting "Go lie down!" and stamping my foot to get him to back off. And of course, the more he sees I'm becoming upset, the more he tries to get close to me, because this is his way. If I'm ever sad or sick, he plasters himself to my side as if his warm, furry presence can banish all sorrows and ills. Which it usually can...unless he's the ill. The more angry I get, the more obnoxious he gets, until finally I either push him into the backyard or grab the leash in frustration and we head out into the typhoon.
Where he proceeds to dance along the sidewalk with his ears blowing back and a wild grin on his face, as if saying, "See? I told you you'd feel better! All you needed was a walk!"
The disgruntling thing is, he's usually right.