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.
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.
Sweet Jesus. The things we do for our dogs!