This is War

On most nights, the routine goes like this: read to Dimples, check a few e-mails, then travel down the long hall to the living room for my daily dose of The Daily Show.

As soon as I cross over from the Forbidden Section, Wonderbutt (who is usually forlornly sprawled as close to the border as possible) perks up and follows me to the living room.  I settle myself into our big old leather chair, and Wonderbutt places himself on the floor directly in front of me, and whimpers a couple of times.  When he first started this, I thought he was angling for an invitation to join me on the chair.  (Which is silly, because it’s the one piece of furniture on which he has always been allowed.)  Under this erroneous assumption, I would pat the space beside me several times.  Eventually, he would leap up, and make himself comfortable, sometimes resting his head in my lap, but oftentimes stretching out on his stomach and kicking me squarely in the crotch.  Fortunately, I am female, so crotch kicks are not quite detrimental to my health.  Also, fortunately, like Wonderbutt, the chair is oversized. With a little manipulation, we both fit on it quite well.  In a matter of minutes, I am turning up the television so I can hear Jon Stewart over Wonderbutt’s snores.

One day, I realized that he only demands an invitation when I am on the side of the chair closest to the end table.  (Wonderbutt, not Jon Stewart.  Jon Stewart is invited to share the chair any time he chooses.)  If I am on the other side of the chair, the dog hops right up with no hesitation.  I tested out this theory and, sure enough, right side – whimper, left side – immediate leap.  So, it seemed that the whimper was not a “Please, may I sit with you?” request, but a “Get the Heck off my side of the chair” rebuke.

Being the troublemaker that I am, I decided that, from now on, I would always sit on the right side.  I needed to prove who is boss, after all.

Last night, I finished reading to Dimples and wandered out to the living room, fully prepared to engage in the nightly ritual of “allowing” Wonderbutt to settle on the less desirable side of the chair.

And, there was Wonderbutt, already fully esconced on the chair.  Pretty much taking up the entire space, but quite obviously occupying the right side, his declared favorite, with no room for me.   His head leaning on the arm rest, and his tongue sticking out in what I’m pretty sure was an “F you” expression when combined with the look in his eyes.

Wonderbutt has no doubt about who’s the boss.  It appears that I underestimated my opponent.  Again.

It might appear that he is snarling, but that is just a combination of his sleepy look and his underbite. I think.

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