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Carol Perkins: Folding under pressure
By Carol Perkins
Somewhere between a deep sleep and the fringe of consciousness and against the hum of my sleep machine, the shrill of Fluffy's voice, coming from the den, startled me. That particular bark typically indicates a stranger approaching, but who would be coming at this hour of the morning? I turned to see if Guy heard it too, but he was not there.
Guy is always up at six and in the shower by seven. I turned over and went back to sleep knowing he would deal with whatever was troubling Fluffy. When the noise stopped so did my interest.
When I rose around seven thirty, Guy was sitting in his chair with Fluffy by his side, both watching their favorite news channel. "What was Fluffy going crazy about this morning?" I asked still sleepy-eyed.
"Well, if you can believe, he was barking at me to come get him down out of the chair."
"What was he doing in the chair?"
"I left him sitting while I took my shower and when he decided to get down, he couldn't, so he was summoning me." Guy said rolling his eyes.
Why couldn't Fluffy get down? Here's the story.
I was slightly leaned back in my recliner reading my book club book for the month and Fluffy was sitting on the back of the chair, which he usually does with his paw on my head. Actually, he was so still I forgot he was there until KERPLUNK! He fell off the back of the chair and hit the floor like a brick. No sound after that. No yelping, no whining, no moaning. Nothing. I was afraid to get up because I thought he was dead. Dead Fluffy. I froze.
Within a few seconds, however, he limped from behind the chair, never looking at me. One leg was definitely hurt, but he never made a sound. I picked him up and placed him in my lap to check for broken bones. He didn't whence or complain, so I reached the conclusion that he was badly bruised. "Poor baby" I repeated trying to console what might have been my fault.
"Did you rock the chair?" Guy stated in his lawyer voice. (He isn't a lawyer.)
"NO, I didn't rock the chair. I think he went to sleep and fell off."
No matter the reason, Fluffy is now officially "laid up." He can't jump on the furniture at will, and only through his eyeballing Guy (never me) do we know that he wants to sit beside one of us. He stands in front of Guy and barks orders. Guy obeys to shut him up.
As I was going to work a few days ago, Guy asked if I had time to run by the County Clerk's office. "Sure. What do you need?"
"I don't need anything, but Fluffy needs a handicap sticker."
As I am writing in my office (Jon's former bedroom), Fluffy is lying on his "bathroom" pad looking at me. What kind of dog lies on a pad meant to be used for his basic needs?
We brought his doggie bed up from the basement thinking he might used it now that he is handicapped, but he wants no part of it. He chooses to sit beside Guy, watch the news, and bark when he wants a treat, wants down, or wants Guy to change the channel (just joking).
Suddenly Fluffy has left the pad and limped to the den. He is standing in front of Guy, barking. He won't stop until his servant waits on him. The barking is dreadful. Much like a child throws a tantrum for what he wants, so does Fluffy. What do we do? Fold under the pressure. - Carol Perkins
This story was posted on 2014-02-02 07:50:53
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