I am a dog who enjoys the simple life. I want my breakfast, with a watermelon appetizer, some food while my parents enjoy dinner, preferably chicken, followed shortly by my supper, then a treat bone at night, and some kibble before bedtime. I don’t mind a walk, neither do I demand one. Most of all I want the human touch. And that is what causes me problems. My parents have two recliners that are separated by an end table. Jumping on these chairs can prove a challenge. I have creaky, uncooperative knees, but since I am on supplements, I have more confidence when I take flight. I am a trained dog who graduated at the top of my class. I know I am supposed to be invited to go on the furniture. My parents tell me to come sit with them, but sometimes I am not sure if they mean it. “Come on River, come up,” my parents plead. Are they just being polite? This question ties me in knots. I begin to spin on the floor and hunch my back. One of my parents will get out of their ch