As you know, I have very few possessions. There is the basket of toys that, through great pain and suffering, I have finally ripped all of the squeakers out of. There is my dog dish which, thanks to the humans, is always full of those awful dry pellets. I have never figured out how prisoners on death row are allowed real food while I, their faithful dog, is stuck shoveling chalky brown bits into my mouth day after day. I have my pen, though I would happily get rid of that.
Most importantly, though, is my blanket. My dear green blanket. It is my most prized possession, always there on the couch for me. Sure, the woman tends to think she has a right to this blanket, but it will always be mine.
Sometimes, though, her desperate need to claim the blanket as her own can be irritating.
I was lying on the couch the other day when she walked into the living room. I had spent the better part of an hour getting positioned perfectly in the blanket. Some people think all you need to do is curl up under the blanket to be comfortable, but those people are idiots. It’s a much bigger process, getting each fold exactly where it should be, draping the blanket just so. If it ends up in the wrong place, the next thing you know you will be furiously trying to get the fibers out of your nose.
As usual, she sat down next to me on the couch. Then, just like that, the blanket was gone. She was off of the couch and headed down the hall. It happened so fast, I had no idea what was happening. For a second, I was stunned. I jumped up and followed. This was unacceptable behavior, even for a renowned blanket hog like her.
I trotted down the hall and then I saw it. There she was, pushing the blanket, my blanket, into the washing machine.
I didn’t know what to do. I went back to the couch and hopped back up. I tried my best to get comfortable, but it was impossible. I mean, who could possibly be comfortable on a couch without a blanket? I’m not a savage!
The worst part is I know how this ends. The blanket will be brought back to me in a couple of hours smelling like a Spring rain. A stupid, disgusting Spring rain. She will plop it right back onto the couch like nothing ever happened, but we both know the truth. I will have to spend the next day trying to adjust the blanket back to its appropriate scent.
I don’t know how I am going to find the time to get my blanket back to its proper state. I have a busy day already scheduled, what with the licking and napping.
I really don’t think my life could be any rougher.