He's taken over our life, George has. We've had him since last September and he's growing up into a really fine dog. But I used to have a couch. An Ethan Allen couch. Granted, it was 10 years old and getting a little faded, but still, a good couch. I have never condoned having a dog on the furniture and those of you who know me know this to be true. But I'm indulging my husband for reasons of my own and my husband has never minded the dogs on the furniture thing.
So our couch is covered with blankets. It seems to be working, for now. I have my own little loveseat and George knows it's where I sit. He is not permitted on my loveseat. But sometimes I come downstairs in the middle of the night for a drink of water and there he is. Sitting on my loveseat. He looks up sheepishly, or he pretends to be asleep. And I don't chase him off.
He's a good dog. All of the time. We love him. And he is absolutely just what my husband needed at the time. It took a long time to even think about getting another dog after our beloved border collie, Ralph, died three Christmases ago. I think we did the right thing in waiting.
Couches are nice and all, but they don't love you back like a dog does. Look at him there, asleep. I just want to go over and pet him. And I think I will.
Update: This was a post I was saving for next week if I happen to be away for an evening. Today (Friday), I got up really early with my husband (who, by the way, did not want breakfast!) and then left at 7:30 for a pre-op appointment at the hospital. Then I went to the grocery store because my husband asked me to. I knew I'd be gone for hours.
I said goodbye to George and headed out the door, knowing that my husband would be back soon to take him on his rounds, checking on the mares. Several hours later, as I'm driving home from the store, I get a call on my cell from my husband. The conversation went like this:
HIM: Where are you?
ME: Just down the road, about 5 minutes away. Why?
HIM: Why didn't you take George? He's really mad.
ME: Um, the dog is mad? How can you tell that a dog is mad? I thought you were taking him on your rounds.
HIM: I thought you were taking him. So I left him here and I just walked into the house and half our living room is in the backyard! That's how I can tell he's mad. He even chewed the frisbee. The good green one. He knows not to chew the frisbee!
ME: Ok. I'm pulling into the farm driveway right now. See you soon.
HIM: No, you won't. I've got to leave. Wait til you see this place. I can't believe he destroyed the good frisbee.
When I pulled up, an entire section of our backyard looked as if it had snowed. There was white pillow stuffing all over. I went into the house and saw that most of my Ethan Allen couch was outside. OMG, OMG, OMG I'm thinking . . . he's destroyed the couch pillows. But no. Thank God the stuffing was from the pillows and not the backs of the couch. I yelled at George, who skulked away and hid.
And as I picked up the yard, I couldn't believe that my husband was surprised at the fact that the dog had chewed a frisbee. A five dollar frisbee! When half of our couch was outside.
Oh, I'm happy to report that George didn't touch anything on the loveseat. And only the old pillows from Kohl's were destroyed. The couch cushions and EA pillows are just fine. Perhaps he has discriminating taste, this dog.
We're ok now. I had a talk with him and he seemed to understand. A border collie needs to be worked and kept busy. Especially when he already has a routine. We've been doing quite a good job of it and he's really a joy to own. Today, we got our wires crossed and the dog was left alone, thinking that my husband was going to come pick him up for the morning chores. George loves those. He sits in the farm pickup truck and is permitted out to watch the vet work and is always complimented on what a good dog he is.
I just can't figure out the frisbee thing, though . . . *sigh*