Monday, January 7, 2013

Low Down, Dirty Dog In My Sheets

"What do mean, the dog said you couldn't sleep there anymore?"
Afternoon Readers,

You know what my favorite part of the day is?

Besides the kids going to bed.

Yes, drinking my token beer before jumping on Twitter is great, but besides that.

No, no, no. You're right, trying to reach that one spot on your back, with a loofa, while singing Hall and Oats in a hot shower is wonderful, but still off the mark.

I'll answer, "What is Climbing into My Warm Bed," for the win, Alex. Who, me? You mean I just one fifty-thousand dollars? Do you know what that can buy, Trebek? Do you? You do. Well, I'll tell you what I'm going to do. March out and buy the best sheets on the market 1,000,000 thread count. That's what I'm going to do. And maybe a new bra."

But it wouldn't matter if I could buy the most luxurious sheets on the market, Readers, because someone in this house doesn't care about my sheets. Even if I imported a bed set woven by the most talented, ambidextrous, confusingly-able lemurs on this planet, Flea would ruin it for me like he always does.

Kind of like that roommate you invited over who probably won't ever move out, I don't mention the dog much, only because we're still coming to terms with each other, and I've been secretly hoping I'd find his shaving kit gone, the kennel cleaned up, and the Guns N' Roses t-shirt thrown in the trash on his way out.

But, no. He's still here. Quieter? Yes, but only because he's crafted a new bag of tricks surely to be employed for the rest of his life here. Our nights go something like this:

*Stretching* "Honey, I think I'll go to bed. For it is in my bed, where I can find peace, relaxation, and the body indention I've been working diligently on for close to four years. Which, as we all know, is the amount of time it takes a crack to turn into a pothole."

*Sprints up the stairs and before light can be turned on, a fat slithering sound of a Boxer wiggling his way off the bed can be heard* "Well, we meet again."

No answer. This is standard procedure, as he never bothers to defend himself, and uses the fact that he's a dog to try and convince me he's an idiot.

But he is not.

"I feel as though we've had this talk before, but could you kindly stop sleeping in my spot?"

He raises one eyebrow, as Boxers tend to do when they feel you have no point.

"You know how I feel about it. Last Saturday, after I got up, there was so much hair stuck to my pajamas, it looked like I'd rolled over a dachshund and killed it."

Silence.

"I really hate it when you pretend like your looking at your cuticles, when, in actuality, you'd prefer I change the subject or move out."

Slowly, he slinks past me. But, as you know, he's a hundred-some-odd-pound Boxer, so it's more like he walks past and slams me into the wall.

"As much as I love these fickle games we play, I bid you good day, sir."

This sort of thing will go on until one of us moves out or I decide to sleep in the kennel.

...and with a couple of Pottery Barn curtains, I could totally live in there.


Until Next Time, Readers!

17 comments:

  1. And this is why I am thankful that I am still winning that good fight and we don't have a dog, lol!!

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    1. We got Flea right when we got married. Husband held up this little ball of fat and said, "I'll let you decided." I was done-in by cuteness.

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  2. We have no dog but if there were a quiet kennel somewhere I would totally live there.

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    1. I tell ya, Jessica, the kennel looks better and better, each day.

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  3. At our house it's a pointless fight. I can't say no. My Henry dog is just too damn cute and when I say no, he gives me those giant dog eyes that say "but mamma, don't you love me?". Why do I give in?? When will I ever get my bed back??

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    1. Ahh, yes, the giant eyes. Those used to work on me all the time. They still do, occasionally. Which is why I haven't kicked him out yet.

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  4. I feel your pain friend! My 170 pound St Bernard believes he should sleep with Phil and me in our queen size bed. This arrangement MIGHT work if we had a King sized bed from which he could not reach me to push me out in the middle of night leaving me wondering why my butt is cold on the floor while he snores on my pillow. Phil and I disagree voraciously about this arrangment. I generally win and the dog grudgingly sleeps on the floor. When I lose I sleep on the floor.

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    1. Oh, he used to do that when he was a lot younger ...but still huge. When the twins came along, my patience got a lot shorter with someone who tried to kick me away from my precious sleep. Flea still loves to sleep on the floor next to my side. It's not bad, unless he has gas.

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  5. Oh yes, thank you so much for reminding me why I made the rule no dogs in bed. The dog hair pajamas and the paw prints on the pillows. Never mind the fact that the same dog who will sleep curled in a ball on a pair of underwear feels the need to stretch if they are on your bed. Then you get to sleep with four paws planted in your back, knowing they are probably actually trying to push you off of your own bed.

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    1. I think the hair situation bothers me more than anything. I really didn't think he'd shed that much, but I think I've collected enough to make a second Boxer.

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  6. Like Melynda, my husband sheds and tries to push me out of bed. Do you think he could be a St. Bernard? Honestly, I'd leave him if it weren't for the puppies--I mean, children!

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    1. I'd put your foot down, now, Fishducky. Otherwise, that could go on for years...;)

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  7. At this point my own private kennel sounds pretty good to me too!

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    1. That's two votes for kennels for moms. I'm moving my blanket and pillow in, tonight.

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  8. I love the pretending to look at cuticles part! Hahahah!

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    1. He's got a lot of nerve, Hill. A. Lot. of. Nerve.

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