I always thought the phrase “it’s a dog’s life” meant that someone was not enjoying his circumstances and feeling life was unfair. Not so in the life of many of the dogs I know.
True, many poor animals spend their entire life tied up in a yard and don’t enjoy many home comforts. Go out doors on any cold evening and you can hear a few dogs complaining of the frosty weather with a lonely howling. Why have an animal if it is going to live outdoors the whole time. If it is too cold for you outside, it is too cold for your dog.
Our dogs, like many other spoiled pets think that letting the fire go out is cruelty. Never mind that they have spent the evening in their favourite chair or lying by the fireside.
At the moment one dog is draped over the window seat, head on a pillow, the other one is stretched out, flat on her back, in front of the fire. The cat is between my knees as I sit with my feet up. Rather than get off she lies with the laptop computer across her head, an imposition, but not enough to cause her to move.
Dave is very easy going with lots of things, he will eat dinner any time from five pm to nine o’clock, whenever I stir myself to make it. Ditto the freedom of the lunch hour. He is in charge of the first cup of tea in the morning and also breakfast, usually oatmeal, which he serves between 7.30 -9.00am. The furry kids have a different approach, no messing about please, I need some food right now. They usually get a few small biscuits and then go out into the yard to explore and do their toileting, while I stagger out with the birdseed.
We may have a casual approach to our dinner, however, by 4.30 both dogs are sitting waiting for one of us to get up and make their theirs. The closer it gets to five pm the more anxious they get. The restlessness starts around 4.30, a general shuffling around, trying to attract attention, which we both purposely ignore, hoping the other one will do the deed. As five pm approaches there is a restless pacing from two small white bodies and if this is ignored, a quiet whine, followed by gradually increasing throat noises that eventually turn into a yip.
When we can no longer ignore them, one of us gets up to go to the kitchen, at that time, the cat will nonchalantly follow us, trying to look uninterested but casually agreeing to eat at the same time, to save us doing it later.
There is an unbelievable rigidity of the dogs eating habits and woe betide the fool that tries to alter things. First, dogs sit patiently while cat gets fed. She eats on a counter so she doesn’t get disturbed by nosy dogs. While eating her medication is rubbed into one ear, a marvellous way to medicate a cat. Then the dogs get their bowl, one by the water bowl and one by the stove, to avoid theft from the fastest eater. When both bowls are clean, they investigate each others bowl, in case something was missed, it never is. Meanwhile the cat has finished and jumps down. The dogs then have to see if she has left anything in her dish, usually just some really stinky residue that is relished by the scavengers.
The counter gets disinfected and all dishes removed from floor to sink. The job is not yet over however. Both dogs get a half of a chewstick which is taken to the living room carpet to be enjoyed. Both dogs now happy and settle down for a few hours.
Roll on 9.00pm, dogs both ask to go outside, spend a few minutes in the back yard then appear at the door to be let in. If this is not done P.D.Q. there is some very indignant yapping. How dare we not be stood waiting for their return? Whoever gets up to open the door has then got to follow them into the kitchen for their last treat of the day, two biscuits, once again carried to the living room rug. Immediately after she has finished, older dog heads to the bedroom, no point staying up if no more food is coming out.
The young dog stays in the living room until my bedtime. At which time I go outside with her for the last dribble of the day, then we head to bed. We have a king size bed, which is just as well as both dogs sleep on top of it. I arrange myself in my sleeping position, not such an easy event nowadays.
During the latter part of life I have had two frozen shoulders, back surgery and, at the moment, tennis elbow. The latter injury has nothing to do with playing tennis but an over eager session of crocheting. Strange what silly things bother us when we get older. Anyway, so much of me hurts and with arthritis in one knee and one wrist, my sleeping positions are not the casual affair of youth. One pillow goes between my knees. Another pillow under one arm, to support and take the strain off my shoulder. My wrist is in a splint and I keep this straight out on the pillow. My head has a sore area, the result of a car rollover twenty years ago. So I dig a hollow in my feather pillow, to avoid pressure on the tender spot. Quite a production, you must agree.
When I am draped in the right position, the dogs rearrange themselves around my legs and we settle down to sleep, until Dave tries to get in bed. The older dog doesn’t want to be disturbed and makes her displeasure known by throaty growls. Dave very rudely tells her to shut up and does his own bedtime gymnastics with pillows and blankets. Such fun to get old, going to bed is sometimes the most exciting time of our day, and it has very little to do with sex. After all the arrangements of body parts, neither of us want to be disturbed by such activities, we do however fondly remember better times when dogs were kicked off the bed and no thought given to how to arrange aching bodies. Nowadays, we still have the urge, it just isn’t urgent enough to disturb our sleep!
Dave switches off the light and the four of us drift off to sleep, Rosie the cat keeping my chair warm until the next morning. It’s a dog’s life and we all love it.