Does this title mean anything to anyone?
It doesn’t to the humans around here. Nor to furry creatures, either. Like this dude here:
We used to have a dog before the kids came; he died when my second child was 2ish. (She’s almost 13 now.)
Rusty was big – over 80 pounds, an orange-coloured mutt with the face and body of a Rottweiler, but with the personality of a lab. We adopted him from the Humane Society when he was about 18 months old. He was neglected as a puppy and as a result had a lot of issues; not socialized properly, afraid of everything, nervous, anxious…but that’s beside the point. The point is, he was big, hairy, and shedding constantly.
So, it was just a natural reaction to keep him off the furniture, right? Especially because I had babies and toddlers in the house at the time.
It wasn’t an issue because Rusty didn’t really care about being on the sofa. He was most content on his bed in his corner when he needed to be alone. I taught my kids quickly that when Rusty was in his corner he wanted to be left alone and to respect that.
(I want a corner like that…) 😭
Anyway, when my current inmates (ha) decided that we needed a puppy (which we needed about as much as a root canal) I made sure that everyone knew that this dog would have several beds and places around the house to call his own space, but the sofa was off limits.
I started my lecture:
“I have no place to call my own,” I began. “No room with a door, no space without clutter.”
They looked at me like I was some deranged lunatic, always going on about needing and wanting space to herself.
“The little spot on the sofa near the corner is mine,” I continued. “I do not want people taking that spot away from me. I do not want the dog to occupy that space either. This is where I sit in the morning after everyone leaves. This is where I write.”
They ignored me.
When I realized that this covid thing was going to go on much, much longer, I realized that spot, my spot, would be nothing but a wayward dream. There was too much noise and clutter in this open concept space here, I’m not going to get any writing done while the family is constantly on the hunt for food, and snacks, and drinks…
So then, sometime after covid started and threatened to linger for some time, I started barricading myself in the bedroom. I even lock the door at times.
That plan didn’t really work either, because the apocalypse stash of food and snacks is in my closet and because teenagers. Teenagers are intrinsically attracted to anything that’s placed under lock and key. Hah. 🙃
Imagine my surprise when I one day in recent weeks, I see this:
Seems the puppy likes to snuggle with the humans when they’re watching tv on that sofa when I am not in that room, and although the humans made a half-hearted attempt at keeping the dog on their lap rather than on the actual furniture, Tucker quickly discovered that the sofa is a cool place to hang out.
Doesn’t matter that the tall matron with the blond streak in her hair was adamantly opposed to furry creatures occupying sofa space…
Anyway. I relented. Only reason I did is because…he was quiet there.
And as many parents know, quiet is a good thing (as long as you have a visual of the quiet creators – if you don’t see them while they’re being quiet, then you know they’re up to no good.)
So where am I typing this post from now, you ask?
At the kitchen island. In front of me is the messy kitchen, the counters are full of early dinner fixings and its debris, to the left near the front door is the hockey equipment which the men dragged up here from the basement even though there is a side door that goes out to the driveway where the car is parked into which the hockey equipment will go, behind me is the girl child with the puppy playing fetch with a piece of rope toy, and the dining table which still needs clearing of dishes, to the right is the tiled hallway with a baby gate preventing the dog from walking all over the house with wet paws when he steps into his water bowl and…
Yeah. It’s all good. Family life and all that.
Now you know why this post isn’t what one might call a thought-inducing piece of poetic prose. 🙃
I’m off to take the poop machine for one final walk.