Foley versus the Stairs

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.

Now 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 frustrated.

Now 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.

Mommy 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.

But 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.)

They 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 chair.

OK, 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.

They 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.

After 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.