“Get down! Get down! Go see Daddy!!” (actual panicky orders I gave my black lab, trying to get him off the couch before he was spotted up there)
That was me, getting busted last week for letting the dog up on the couch. My husband, in preparation for a trip to
, asked me if I wanted to go run errands with him. I regretfully declined so that I could tweak the article I was working on. (and had a deadline for. I wanted to be “prompt” with my submission.) Florida
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 climbed up on the couch. He’s 95 pounds and does nothing subtly. His fur coat looks exactly like a big black blanket, so while I may have noticed him get up there, I became engrossed in writing and forgot he was there. (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 opening the door from my spot on the couch, from the horrified gasp I realized 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 while he 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, but we both knew the truth. Also because my hubby felt around on the couch until he located the very warm spot on the couch where 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?)
|"what? me, on the couch? There's a first time for everything..."|