Whose couch is it anyway?

Beaumont:  Seriously?  What does a dawg have to do in this house to get some peace?

Me:  What do you mean?

Beau:  If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a gazillion times, I do not need a catty friend.

Me:  She’s only visiting for three weeks Beau. Be nice.

Beau:  Heck!  I try being nice. What does she do? She swings her little paws at me and hisses!

Me:  Umm… I’m not sure being nice includes standing above her, putting your paw on her back and trying to make her lie down.

Beau:  Well if she’d just quit moving I wouldn’t have to try to makeher lie still.

Me:  She’s lying still now.

Beau:  On my couch.

Me:  You mean your dad’s and my couch, right.

Beau:  Nope. I mean my couch.  Think about it. You’re gone for long periods of the day, sleep in your own bed all night, where do you think I am?

Me:  This is not a pretty picture you’re painting.

Beau:  It’s pretty nice for me.

Me:  (sarcastically – which is always lost on a dog btw)  And of course, it’s all about you.

Beau. Is there any other way?  Now. About that catty four legged feline. How about moving her off my couch?

Me:  Beau!  She’s comfortable! And she’s not bothering anyone.

Beau:  I’m not comfortable and just might start bothering her if you don’t move her.

So. I move Zoey, my daughter’s cat who’s staying with us for three weeks while they’re off galavanting around Columbia and Aruba. Beau stays on the floor.

Me:  Well, aren’t you going to get up.

Beau:  Nah.  I’m comfortable here on the floor. The hardwood is cooler than the leather. Know what I mean?

Sigh.  And I do. He really just wanted to see if I’d do his bidding. I wonder who really does rule in this dog house?