a different kind of pain

So yesterday S. and I spent about an hour working with Wrigley on the dog door. Both Wrigley and Belly got lots of treats during this hour, so much so that I cut down on Belly's dinner. I mean, come on, the girl wasn't even working, but she got treats treats treats cuz her goofball little sister finally made it through the door.

I'd be outside on the deck, S. would be right inside, and we'd cajole her to go in and out. And then back in again. Wait. We're not done. Back outside again. And on and on, and each time she went through the door she was greeted with loads of praise. Oh, what a good girl we have! What a good baby! Good girl! Good girl! Good girl! Yeah, that's a good baby!

After about 45 minutes of this I said to S., "all this cheering and praise is starting to hurt my face. I'm exhausted."

And Belly said, me too. Maybe I can have another treat?

And Wrigley said, huh?