Me and her are no longer on speaking terms. She’s really done it this time. This is serious stuff.
I may go into a decline.
It all started yesterday, when she stripped all the covers off my sofa. She does this every so often…and most often before we get visitors. Now normally, she hates that job. Let’s face it, the cushions are nearly as big as she is and she struggles a bit and says bad words. But this time, she was smiling. I was immediately suspicious…and gave her the eyebrow… the one that asks ‘what’s up?’ She was Up To Something, I could tell…
“Well,” she says, “it is the very last time I’ll be doing this…but I wouldn’t want it to go all doggy.”
That was a surprise! I couldn’t see her living with the muddy pawprints and eau de dog all winter. She has no appreciation of how hard I have to work to get a really good smell on the sofa. And it isn’t my fault if the garden is all muddy and squishy (though she may have a point about it not being digging weather). She just wrinkles her nose, sighs a lot and starts stripping the cushions every couple of weeks. Hang on a minute…’go’ where?
The she dropped the bombshell…
“The sofa is going.” What? Say that again… “We’re getting a nice new one.”
She’s stealing my sofa?
Mine. Definitely mine. possession is nine-tenths of the law, so they say… and she hardly ever sits on it…
“Okay, point taken, but it has to go.”
Look, who bought a cream sofa with a black dog? Is it my fault the pawprints show? Or that I moult (yeah, she moans about that too…). And I’m a dog… we are supposed to smell of dog you know….
“The new one is leather. Smells better than you.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. It was a joke, no way she could manage a leather sofa. Especially not in December!
“Ever heard of Freecycle?”
No..? She explained. It was no joke. So, when will this horror be arriving?
“It’ll be here on Monday,” she says, “And I can wipe it clean every day,” she says with an evil grin on her face. “Once I’ve recoloured the leather and fixed the fading it will be lovely. And the cushions won’t come off either!”
What? I need those cushions! I burrow under them to make my den! It’s good exercise for her bending down to pick them up a dozen times a day. Keeps her bendy.
I was so upset I didn’t even realise I’d disembowelled one of the little scatter cushions…
“Stuffing? Oh Ani…”
Okay, I know. Sorry.
She tried to get round me then by scritching my ears. Then explained that change is not always a bad thing. That may be true, but I am having a hard time seeing anything good in this one. Though I suppose it will make her happy. Which is okay. Sort of.
So, if you need me for anything between now and the fatal day, I’ll be under my sofa cushions. Whimpering. Quietly. Piteously. She needn’t think she can feel good about this.
And if she writes to you with a Christmas list and you have to decide whether she’s been naughty or nice…
…well, you can make your own mind up.