Storm: A dogs-eye view of the world
Sunday, May 14, 2017
My little dog Einstein can be something of a fussbudget. Lately, he has been refusing to eat his supper unless I sit on the floor next to him.
There is no particular reason for this demand, although I suppose his canine brother Ollie’s slow sidle toward Einstein’s dish may be part of the problem. Still, Einstein is far more likely to steal his brother’s food than the other way around. Ollie is a passive soul, and one low growl is enough to send him scampering to the safety of the living room.
I suspect that Einstein just likes to boss me around and prove he is the alpha dog. He glares at me as I stand close by, his mouth firmly shut. So I sigh and take a seat while he chews, wondering how a 9-pound dog always seems to get the best of me.
It’s not all bad, though. You can learn a lot by sitting on the floor. For example, you can learn that the floor needs sweeping. Again. Even though it has just been swept, and where the heck is all this dust and dirt coming from, anyway? You would think the creature from the Black Lagoon lived with us.
I check the boys’ paws whenever we come home from a walk, and they seem pretty clean to me. Also, I take off my shoes as soon as I get in the house. I really ought to do a spot check for a portal to another dimension: the dust dimension. I’m betting I could close the portal with a Swiffer and a can of Lemon Pledge.
What else do I learn from a seat on the floor? Well, I learn that there are a whole lot of movies on the bottom shelf of my living room bookcase that I haven’t watched for a long time. I admit that as a middle-aged person, I have begun to favor films that don’t require a lot of bending over to examine. That’s why I keep all my favorite superhero films at eye level. Still, it’s been a quite awhile since I watched “Time Bandits.”
I also notice that the legs of my furniture look a bit worse for the wear. Ollie channels his inner cat to scratch things and Einstein occasionally likes to “mark” the TV stand when he feels he isn’t getting enough attention. Einstein considers attention his divine right, and distracting items like the TV or engaging novels left on the side table often bear the brunt of his scorn. In fact, from where I’m sitting, I think I spy a piece of a book cover he tore off in a fit of pique. I suppose I should should be grateful he didn’t tear away the ending.
Another revelation: from this angle, I get a ground-level view through the window in the back door. Suddenly I understand why Ollie and Einstein are always spotting squirrels. I can see through both the door and the gaps in the fence. When a small, furry creature rushes by, I catch a glimpse of him. Not that I tell Einstein. He needs to finish his supper, and there will always be another squirrel to bark at when his dish is empty.
The main thing I see from this vantage point is Einstein. His head dips as he scoops up another mouthful of food, and he occasionally looks up to check that I am still beside him. Knowing I am near makes him happy, and being near him makes me happy. I grin at Ollie, and he scoots closer. “Just a family having supper together,” I think to myself.
Sometimes the floor can be the best seat in the house.
Contact Janet Storm at firstname.lastname@example.org or 252-329-9587.