“Get down! Get down! Go see Daddy!” (These are actual panicky orders I gave my black lab, trying to get him off the couch before my husband came in.)
And that was me, getting busted last week for letting the dog up on the couch. My husband, in preparation for a trip to Florida, asked me if I wanted to run errands with him. I regretfully declined so I could tweak the article I was working on. (I wanted to be “prompt” with my submission.)
I figured I’d have a 45-minute chunk of time to write. I settled in on the couch, pulled my laptop onto (what else?) my lap and began to work.
In my writing frenzy, I failed to notice (ha -- no, I didn’t) that my dog had climbed up on the couch. He’s 95 pounds and does nothing subtlely. His fur coat looks exactly like a big black blanket, so while I may have noticed him get up there, I did forget he was there when I became engrossed in writing. (Ha! No, I didn’t.)
Forgot, that is, until I heard the sound of the back door opening. Oh. My. Gosh. Although I couldn’t see who was coming in from my spot on the couch, the horrified gasp told me it was my husband. He was back very, very early from his errands and opened the door just in time to see Cooper’s back legs hop off the couch. Dammit. Caught.
He looked at me but directed his comments to the dog.
“Cooper! Did your mommy let you up on the couch?” Of course, like every good wife, I immediately denied knowing he was even up on the couch (*wha?), but we both knew the truth -- especially after my hubby felt around on the couch until he located the very warm spot on which the dog had been sitting.
(To my mind, we keep the couch cushions covered with sheets to keep them from getting dirty. So where’s the harm?)
Also from time to time, when my husband and I are gone, that same dog is full access to the couch by one child in particular. This one child (her name rhymes with Banana) has actually taken pictures of her doggie sitting on said couch and flagrantly posted them on Facebook, where her dad could see them.
Fast forward one week. Cooper had a very sore paw for some reason (probably because he jumped off the couch). He was limping around feebly and making us feel very sorry for him. My husband can't bear to see Cooper in pain so he petted him anxiously over and over. I left Coop in his able care while I went downstairs to fold clothes.
And I came back to find Cooper happily curled up on the couch next to my husband, who just smiled at me.
I smiled back, in complete understanding.
(Author’s note: Cooper has made a complete recovery. And as I write this he is sitting next to me on the couch. But don’t tell my husband.)