I know I have aged in the last few years but I didn’t know I got old. You know how you can tell that you’ve gotten old? They start buying you things to “help” you when you never asked for any help.
I have had some weight shift as I have aged. A lot of my weight is now
behind me, but not in a good way. So I don’t have the lift off I used to
have. I have the same amount of lift off that George Costanza had when
he was trying to model Jimmy’s training shoes. Foley’s getting
my favorite spot to sit in is Mommy’s recliner. And when I was younger I
could jump in the air, spin around, dunk two basketballs, fart out the
window, and land smoothly on the seat. Up until yesterday I was getting
in my chair that sits next to Mommy’s big comfy, and either make a leap
of faith and put my butt in the Lord’s hands, or whined until Mommy
picked me up. I was perfectly happy with this system. But Monday morning
something terrible happened: Daddy had an idea.
and Daddy, without my knowledge, had been discussing buying stairs for
me. I didn’t need no stinking stairs, but I could tolerate them if they
came from a respectable store with Pet in the name. But no, Daddy saw
that stairs were on sale at CVS for $10.00. CVS? That’s where they have
the crappy dog treats and toys that people buy when they realize on
their way home from work that they had forgotten their dog’s birthday.
He couldn’t possibly have bought me stairs from CVS.
he did. (I appreciate the booing but his heart was in the right place
even though his head was up his wazoo.) He brought it home and snapped
the pieces together (and isn’t this the term you want used for stairs,
or any device made for your safety, snapped together? Come on Mrs Foley
we just got done snapping together your wheelchair and handicapped ramp,
let’s roll you up the stairs.)
put the sherpa covering on it. I was so upset that a mountain guide had
to give his life for that tacky covering. Then Mommy put my front paws
on the bottom step and her hands on my butt, which was total sexual
harassment, left them there to linger a little too long, then slightly
began to push me up the stairs. I dug my feet into the poor sherpa
carcass and refused to move. They then used my harness to pull me up the
stairs. My harness! Made for my personal protection and now used
against me. They got me to the highest of the three steps near the
recliner and then, while holding the harness, they said the word jump.
like I am so stupid that I wouldn’t know to jump, and lifted me into the
fine, I was the in the chair, mission accomplished. But then they put
me on the floor and did the whole procedure, including the useless jump
phrase repeated, to try to train me to lose the stairs.
had not further luck so they sunk to the depths that all humans sink to
in training dogs to climb, the kibble. They put a kibble on one step
and I ate it, and we repeated it for the second step. Then they put it
on the top step. I wanted nothing to do with the rickety top of the
snapped together stair built by people with no building experience. So,
from the second step, I just stretched my neck, used my tongue and
snatched the kibble. We were back to them lifting up by the harness one
step at a time.
several attempts Daddy noticed that the height of the steps was
actually lower than the chair I had been jumping from. The intensity of
their training waned. And the stairs were headed for the big closet full
of things like the barker and other devices purchased to either aid me
or control me that were abandoned after I proved their futility. The
next morning, when I thought no one was paying attention, I snuck up the
stairs and got into the recliner. But Daddy saw me. So now they keep
the stairs near the recliner when no one is sitting in it to help me up.
Maybe someday I will use them. If nobody’s looking. Can’t let the
humans think they bought something useful. It’s just not right.