You all know that I’m a pretty regular dog – keep the house safe for the family, free from cats and squirrels, all the basic stuff – but the problem is that this crazy family can’t stay put. I must have moved 1000 times in the last couple of years. First we had the little house with the tiny yard, then we had the house with the big snowy deck (and my love Izzy and Rorshach). Then, The Move. Stuck in a million different shelters, then drugged and driven cross country because of the species-ist policies of the airlines…traveling like baggage, indeed…then spend a night in an apartment, all to get dragged to some goofy house from the 60s with a nasty pool and VERY LITTLE GRASS in the yard.
Very Disconcerting.
At least I met Smitty and his family, and we’ve been securing the perimeter for the howl (whole?) Woods of Westlake for a few months now. Developing a little routine – get the kids out, nudge the old man out of bed, bark for us to do rounds, even guarding the adults at night (the crate gets a little lonely). But there was always one constant through the whole thing. Only one.
Junky Blue Couch
Its place has changed – it’s gone from the main TV couch (Olive for a while) to off to the side (Hoyne) or into the dad’s office, but it’s always been the place I can go to curl up off the floor without getting a swat.
It’s MY place.
Until yesterday. The girl called the Salvation Army to take MY couch away. I was sad. The three boys begged Cruella not to do it, but to no avail. The couch was going to take “The Long Walk” and there was nothing I could do about it. So, I kept a stiff upper lip, and went in to say my final goodbyes. I even wrote a bye-ku:
So long junky couch
You’ve always been so comfy
Go and help someone
So, when the Salvation Army got here, I was brave. I didn’t cry. I didn’t howl and bite. I was resigned to losing my friend, but hopeful there would be another dog (or kid) who would be able to enjoy JBC as much as we have. The kids watched the Sox win the World Series on that couch. We all watched the Hawks win the Cup from there. We watched Manning beat Brady the first time on it (well, I did – they were on the leather sofa then…).
OK – I cried a little.
It was like Cypher in the Matrix when he’s talking to Trinity, and all he has to do is unplug Neo, and tells her there’d have to be some kind of act of God to save him at this point.
And there was.
Just like Tank coming up and killing Cypher, the Salvation Army guys said – “That REALLY IS a Junky Blue Couch – far TOO junky to even give away to somebody else…thanks, but no thanks…” And thus was Junky Couch saved.
By an Act. Of. God.
Can I get an Amen for that??
Now, in reality, I don’t know whether to be happy or offended, but right now, I’m leaning towards happy. In fact, I’m curled up right now…
Arf.
PS – the big deal is that this whole thing started up again
because movers showed up again. Who
knows where I’ll be posting from the next time.
I can only guarantee that I will never post from poolside…
