This past weekend was a rather momentous time in our household, a turning point of sorts. Well, technically less so for The Wife™ and I than for Dogzilla™. And seeing as how we apparently exist to be his indentured servants, fanning him and feeding him grapes off the vine, I suppose this is appropriate.

Since we moved into our new house last May, and since we saved his ass from the puppy mill have been blessed with His presence, we’ve employed the technology of baby gates to restrict where he can and cannot go in the house. This has been a crucial tool for us, seeing as how he thinks he is Mufasa and that anything that the light touches is his kingdom. Now it’s anything that the light touches and/or is not blockaded by a four foot gate with plastic chain links. How’s that for a kingdom, pal?

For the past many months, though, the last remaining gate has stood on the first step leading up to the second floor. Jonas fancies himself a singular Lewis and Clark and would certainly take to exploring that which does not belong to him if the Portal to the Upstairs was not blocked. Climbing over this gate several times a day for the past 365 has been a real pain because I come from the Tribe of Short Legged Ones, and it’s more like a track hurdle for me than baby gate. So this past weekend we decided it was time to move the gate to the top of the stairs, thus now allowing the stairs themselves to be fair game for His Highness™.

This singlehandedly has blown his devious little mind.

I’m not sure if it’s the fact that something that has always been off-limits is now allowable or not. Perhaps it’s the danger and intrigue of occupying a formerly demilitarized area. But the entire weekend was spent running up and down the steps like a fat kid after the ice cream truck, tail wagging enthusiastically. Up and down, down and up, standing each time at the top step and looking down as if to say, “These stairs? AWESOME. When did they get installed? And you’re sure I’m not going to get swatted for this?!”

“Climbing over this gate several times a day for the past 365 has been a real pain because I come from the Tribe of Short Legged Ones, and it’s more like a track hurdle for me than baby gate.”

You would think by Jonas’ reaction that we had invented water or finally allowed him to climb onto the couch (his Holy Grail), but no. His reign of terror has merely been extended to include 12 stairs, a strip of real estate so coveted that if I had known what the price of this was worth to him, I totally would have made him cut a deal first. Instead we now get to listen to hour after hour of his mini-horse legs scampering up and down the stairs, likely wearing out the only piece of carpet that he’s allowed to touch.

I swear that in a past life he was a Roman emperor or feudal overlord or something, he’s that drunk off of his new-found power. Let’s just hope he gets intoxicated enough to take a damned nap one of these days and give us some peace.