Earlier today we were engaged in what I believe is WWIII. I'm not talking about Iraq or Afghanistan (lets not get me started on those anyhow ....).
No, this war was closer to the Cone household.
The representatives of what I like to call the "Dogs Union" were engaged in Day 2 of a battle that started yesterday and shows no signs of ending anytime soon.
Sammy "I wont eat anything but people food" Cone, and Duke "Duke / Big Dummy" Cone officially declared war on the construction workers across the street and two blocks down.
The standoff started when Duke picked up on a guy standing on a roof NO WHERE near his own house. In fact, the guy in question was so small that I couldn't even see what all the fuss was about until I pressed my nose to the bay window and looked to the right.
Apparently my dogs have a built in Google Map, with pin points to anyone who may be within a one mile radius.
The war tactics of the dogs are questionable, at best. Mostly this includes each dog taking up a post at either end of the dining room table, which also coincides with the each end of the bay window. Whenever any of the construction workers (who, unfortunately haven't received the memo entitled "This Means War", with a paw print signature) dares to move into either dogs line of vision, they launch into an offensive that I haven't quite figured out, but seems perfectly orchestrated, so they must have put some thought into it.
At this point I can only assume that they use the time that I keep them in their crates to go over things like strategic placement and counter offenses.
At the first sign of movement, this is what happens. Its the same thing every single time, so at this point I could join them, if I so chose:
Sammy will start whining in a very high pitched cry. She then proceeds to walk one half circle around the table, stop, bark, and walk back to her original position, where she barks again.
Duke cries, rockets himself OFF the window over to the couch, where I have usually taken up residence with the laptop. He then stops, spreads out on all fours, and stares me in the eye as if to say "Woman! Put your gear on and lets get to this!", before rocketing back off the couch into his original position and whining one more time.
This goes on usually at 5 minute intervals until I get tired of the whole thing and tell them to go back to the cage for a better plan of attack.
Today, the construction workers obviously sent out recon. It came in the form of a lady with a baby carriage who WALKED BY THE HOUSE.
This maneuver caused the dogs to launch into code red, where they each ran around the room, howling at the top of their lungs and at one point, the dumb one ran into the wall because he cant howl with his fucking eyes forward.
I called an end to the day shortly after this. I assume that tomorrow, unless that roof is blessedly fixed, the battle will rage forward.
On a side note, when Allen was informed of the war, he says: "Why don't you just close the blinds?"
Huh. I guess Military Intelligence isn't an oxymoron after all.