It was 2:00 p.m. when I first heard Lucy, my Shih-Tzu, start whining.

I scooted over to the door to see if she needed to go out. Using my most singsong-y voice, I invited her into the back yard. She stood stock still. No movement. Again I sang. No movement. Only whining from deep in the bottom of her throat.

“What is it, girl?”

Concerned that maybe I forgot to feed her, I went into the laundry room and checked her silver, crown-embossed bowls (I wish I was kidding, but no, the Queen has standards. At least they aren’t sterling?)

Lucy, on her satin pillow. Fitting.

Her bowls were filled to the brim. But just in case Miss Priss knew something I didn’t, I emptied the water bowl and refilled them again, topping off the food.

She stood by the laundry room door and continued to whimper. Each whine more pitiful than the last. This time, I chose to ignore the whining and trudged back to my office.

After about an hour, I’d about had it. At some point, patience does wear thin. My voice sang a whole lot less when I ushered her to the back door. Again.

“Let’s go, Dog,” I commanded. “Let’s go potty.”

The canine would not move. Only whine.

“Fine,” I huffed. “Be that way.” I went back to my office.

Whine. Whimper. Moan. Growl. Groan.

4:00 rolled around. My nice, self-controlled person (big toothy grin) was about to blow a gasket.

“LUCY ROTHSCHILD! WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?”

Into the laundry room, AGAIN, to check her bowls. Full. Then, I realized the dryer was running. And that there was a laundry basket in front of the dryer on the floor. A pair of Phil’s jeans hung from a hook on the open laundry room door.

I stooped to pick up her bowls and carried them into the kitchen, dropping them by the stove. Then I stepped back to see what would happen.

Lucy stopped whining. She scampered to the bowls, her tail wagging. She began lapping up water and crunching Science Diet.

You mean to tell me that dog of mine did not eat her food in the laundry room because jeans were hanging on the door, a basket of clothes sat a foot from her bowls and the dryer was running?

I wonder how long she would have whined if I hadn’t moved her food? I wonder if she would have simply wasted away starving just mere inches from her bowls because she wasn’t willing to deal with the apparent obstacles or offenses?

She takes Diva to a whole new level.

I wish I could give a spiritual application to this silly story, but I don’t. I love my dog more than I care to admit, but sometimes I just need to whine about her. (Another big toothy grin!)

Have you ever behaved like Lucy? Hmmm …