We’ve got a couch and a loveseat in our living room.  The loveseat “belongs to the dogs”, we say, as they’ve got their toys, a sweater, a comforter, and god knows what else smuggled up there to cuddle with.

Last week, we implented a “no dogs on the couch” rule.  They can be on their loveseat all they want, but the couch shouldn’t smell like dog and really, shouldn’t the humans own a piece of furniture?  Easier said than done.  Even with nothing on the couch that could be appealing to snuggle with, we’ll still catch them (okay, usually Joss) lying on it now and again.  So all week, we’ve been having to yell at the dogs to GET DOWN and then telling them GOOD BOY/GIRL! when they jump up onto the loveseat again.  It kind of breaks my heart in a way to tell Joss to get down off the couch, because his perky little ears droop so low, his tail goes far between his legs, his eyes get big and wet… and when I have to move him off the couch, he whines because he is just. that. unhappy.

Needless to say, Chris suspects that I am not enforcing the “no dogs on the couch” rule as firmly as I could be, although I am. Last night, we saw Buffy lying on the loveseat, but didn’t know if Joss was there.  So my darling husband walks over to the couch and lifts up a pillow that’s tucked into the corner.

As in, to check if I put a pillow on top of Joss to make sure Chris wouldn’t see him lying on the couch.

WTF?  I’m still laughing about it.  Who knew I was so devious?