Loyal, handsome, good at catch. These are the words used to describe Maximus. You know, focus on the strengths. I wouldn’t call him dumb, buuuuuut,…I also haven’t called him canine Mensa material. However, it’s important to continue to reassess situations as they evolve. I’m fairly certain he’s trying to maim me, and he’s pulling off to look like an accident every time. He may be a lot brighter than I give him credit for.
He hasn’t always wished me harm. I think he knows how loved he is. I’m sure he knows that he’s the first of our dog history that I’ve got to name. I know he knows that I’m the one who takes him on fun adventures like surprise trips to San Luis Obispo to see one of his favorite wrestling adversaries. We go to the DIY dog spa just he and I. I’ve taught him all four of his tricks. (Three years old, four tricks…see?! Loyal, handsome, and good at catch!). So much reason for him to be on my side.
That is, until the incident.
Max has his dog bed in Brian’s closet. This is jokingly referred to as his own studio apartment. This worked great for the first 2 1/2 years of his life. But for some reason, this fall he decided that he was going to take a run at sleeping on the bed. As a Labrador, he’s specifically bred for inclement weather. I’ve got the evidence in my vacuum to show that dude’s got plenty of hair. He’s even got that special Lab hair, the kind that is intended to protect him in cold waterfowl retrieval situations. Not like he’s ever gone hunting, but should his tennis ball fall in the pool in winter, he’s more than prepared.
He does not need to sleep on the people bed. He also certainly does not need to spoon the people on the people bed.
I drew a line in the sand; and since that time, he’s out to get me.
He’s knocked my hip out of place. He’s conveniently laid where he’s invisible causing what was far and away my best fall of my adult life. What I wouldn’t give to see video of my cart-wheeling self somehow nailing both the coffee table AND the hardwood floor in the same glorious fall. His chocolate self just looks at me with an expression of feigned innocence. As if to say, “I see you fell. What an unfortunate mishap.”
During the middle of the night, he stands with his head at the exact height of mine next to the bed as I sleep. Staring. Intermittently placing his wet nose on my face. I’ll wake and tell him to get back to his apartment. Most the time he goes, but not until he stares at me first. “You may have won this battle, but I’m going to win the war.”
Luckily, my attributes include being persistent/stubborn. I am prepared to flaunt my ability to walk upright and my opposable thumbs at him for as long as this takes. In the meantime, don’t have worry for my lovely green forearm bruise or the hitch in my giddyup. I’m okay. I’m not headed down the road like to be like one of those people in a domestic violence relationship with their cat. It’s just a period of recalibration as I learn that Maximus is a little more than just loyal, handsome, and good at catch.
Bifocals and Barbells 