She stands at my knee, prancing excitedly like a Lipizzaner on parade. Trying to speak, all she gets out is “gruff, grrrrrufff, gruffff.” I swear she is smiling at me, laughing because I don’t get her joke. I imagine it’s something like, “hurry, Timmy has fallen down the well. Again!”
What she’s really asking is for me to let her out the back door. There are squirrels in the trees, taunting her and daring her to chase them. Bounding out in the yard, she barks a warning. The exuberance of her bouncing contradicts her growls.
She just wants to play.