My daughter, the herding dog

Have you ever known a border collie? I met one once at a cafe whose life revolved around fetch. The entire hour or so I was there she spent in retrieving the ball her owner tossed for her about five feet away — over and over and over again. I bet she’d done it five hundred times by the time I left and showed no signs of slowing.

Meet my daughter, the border collie.

Scene 1: Boo packs some jackets and week-old crackers into a box and goes out the front door.
Scene 2: Boo rings the doorbell. If it goes unanswered for four seconds, she rings again. Or kicks the door.
Scene 3: I answer the door, Boo announces “UPS Man!” (Her favorite person, you’ll perhaps recall from last Halloween.) Then she hands me the box, says “This is for Boo!” and slams the door.
Scene 4: Boo opens the door, says “I’m Boo now! Are there any packages for me?” (What am I, the help?) 
Scene 5: Boo screams with delight upon opening her box and tossing the aforementioned stale crackers all over the recently-vacuumed floor.

This afternoon, she repeated that play about 40 times. I’m not kidding.

You’ll notice, too, that the scenario requires that I open the door for the “UPS Man” in Scene 3, so my afternoon went something like this: put baby on changing table, remove dirty diaper, DING-DONG, put baby on bed, open door, return to baby, put on new diaper, DING-DONG, put baby in chair, open door, fill bottle, start hot water running, DING-DONG, open door, warm bottle, dry bottle, DING-DONG, open door, feed baby, DING-DONG, open door, burp baby, DING-DONG. You get the picture.

On the plus side, if I ever have sheep to corral, I know exactly whom to call.