Pet Train

When I get up and head downstairs, the pets presume I am going to the kitchen. They all get up and follow me, like a train follows an engine down the track. I, of course, am the engine. Cosine is typically the caboose, as she is older and moves more carefully than the others. They follow me because they are under the misguided delusion that the only reason I could possibly be going downstairs would be to visit the kitchen to give them food, or a treat, or the best of all worlds: a human food treat.

But it's not always the case. I'm not always going to the kitchen to give them a treat. If I gave them a treat every time I went downstairs they'd be fatter than they already are. And if I went to the kitchen for food every time I descended the stairs, I personally would be larger than the house. Sometimes I go downstairs and don't even go to the kitchen. Sometimes I don't go near the kitchen at all. Or I'll merely breeze through the kitchen to retrieve whatever it was that sent me downstairs to begin with. This leaves the pets looking at me accusatorily, like "doh, aren't you forgetting something?" Yet still they follow me.

I'll admit. I've gotten into the habit of dispensing doggie treats rather frequently. Which is what has caused this lemming-like behavior.

When Wendy gets up and heads downstairs, the pets don't follow her. Unless she calls them. Then they all go running.

Who's got who trained, anyway?