living with dogs

Who can relate to that?

Ours don’t sleep on our bed… not for lack of trying…

I would love to allow the poodles on the bed with us. Except for two things: I hate dirty footprints on the doona cover and they’re just so big. With two of them on the bed, and me and Wayne there’s just not enough room to move.

My favourite thing though remains late weekend mornings in bed, coffee and books, poodles cuddle up with us…

When I’m alone I always let the poodles sleep with me. I love the feeling of them next to me. Its kind of a safe feeling. Comforting. Numbing.

‘Cause you see, Montana is content to sleep on Wayne’s side of the bed, her back to mine, keeping me warm… Romeo prefers to sleep on my legs, pinning me down. Between that and their weight on either side holding the covers down, I can’t move at all.

Meanwhile, there’s been a bad development in the canine behaviour department.

I blame Wayne.

Ok, ok, I don’t blame Wayne, that was just habit.

I blame the pills Montana was on for her skin infection. That’s cleared up thankfully, but while she was on them she was ravenous all the time. She took to following anyone with food, staring at them with that hypnotic gaze she has which says “you. don’t. want. to. eat. all. that… you. want. to. give. me…”

She’d also started going through the rubbish bag. And taking things off the kitchen bench.

Now, you have to understand. My dogs have NEVER done things like that.

I’ve left food on benches their entire lives. I’ve left things on the table….

I don’t leave things on the coffee table unattended. Turns out the temptation defeated them on that one. But generally, they’ve been such good kids that when the bambi incident happened I was taken by surprise.

Last week Wayne took some roast venison out of the fridge, put it on the bench and carved it up. He did what any dog slave owning person does and doled out scraps to the dogs. Then he then made himself a sandwich, sat at the table and ate it while reading his book.

I was in the office when I heard the blood curdling scream.

Montana had eaten all the venison on the chopping block!

Wayne hadn’t seen it and apparently hadn’t heard a thing!

Wouldn’t have happened to me. I have ultrasonic hearing when it comes to dogs chewing on something they shouldn’t.

Wayne’s taken to calling her a “bambi thieving bitch” since then.

She’s in his bad books. I still love her though. I don’t really like venison.


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