Dog Days (and Nights)

Fair Warning:  This is yet another post about my dogs.  Read no further if you’re sick and/or tired of being regaled with tales (and tails) of life with Boomer & Marley.  You know who you are.

______________________________________________

Boomer (all 135 pounds of him) has taken to laying directly at my feet every night while I watch TV.  And by directly at my feet, I mean right where I put my feet on the floor when I'm sitting in my favorite chair, which leaves no room for my actual feet.  "Under foot" is an understatement.

Boomer doesn't really have a "spot" in our house.  He hangs out on the guest bed while we're at work and he usually just lays on the floor next to us when we're home.  I decided it was time to try to find him an area to call his own. Hopefully nowhere near my feet.  First step: Buy a Mack-Daddy dog bed that he won't be able to resist.  I found the perfect bed on the L.L. Bean website, and three days and $300 later it was delivered. 

Assembly was a bit of a bitch, as evidenced below.  And don't give me any shit about my giant glass of wine on the side table.  Iced White Zinfandel: signature drink of the white trash female.

Once I had the bed (badly) assembled, I put it in the corner and waited for the magic to happen.  Based on previous experience, I knew that Boomer needed to "discover" the new bed by himself, and then "claim" it as his own (he won't touch a new dog toy unless you put it down and leave the room - Great Danes are ridiculously passive).  I also knew that if I made a big deal about the bed, he'd assume it was mine and he'd never get within 10 feet of it.  So once the bed was in place I left the room to let nature take it's course.  I checked back every few minutes to see how he responded.

8:30 p.m.: Oh, shit.  Wrong dog.  "Marley!  Move!  MOVE!!  That's not your bed!"  I finally got her to move to her own bed in the opposite corner.

8:45 p.m.: Oh, for the love of God.  "Marley!  GET OUT!  That's not your bed."  She eventually moved to her own bed again.

9:00 p.m.:  "Marley.  Dammit!  NOT. YOUR. BED."  This time I relocated her to her own bed myself.

9:15 p.m. : "Hey, ASSHOLE!  Move."  I finally had to lock her in the guest room.  Obedience isn't really one of her strengths.

I was worried that all the commotion might have scared Boomer away from the overpriced bed forever, but eventually his curiosity got the best of him.

9:20 p.m.: He's giving it a try, but he looks decidedly nervous about it.

9:25 p.m.: Still not sure about it.  But after 5 solid minutes of me repeating "goodboygoodboygoodboygoodboy" I think he was afraid to move.

9:30p.m.: V-I-C-T-O-R-Y!

Sweet Jesus. The things we do for our dogs!