The Tasmanian Dog!

First off, let me preface this by saying that I am not against allowing dogs on furniture.  While I would love to cuddle on the couch and in bed with my fur babies, I have raised them to stay off of the furniture if there is already a human being claiming the space.  I've done this so they don't just assume that they can hop up on the cushy couch or bed onto our guests and it has been a blessing...Oscar and Fanny are truly well behaved dogs when guests come over.  

On to the good stuff....

In recent weeks Aaron and I have given Oscar the go-ahead to jump up on our own bed when we are getting ready for work or just hanging out around the house.  Now, some of you who know me well might ask, "Why the sudden change in your anal-retentive, control-freak behavior, Laura?!"  Well, I figured why not?!  Why shouldn't he be allowed to be up there?  I would want to be up there if I were a dog and as long as he doesn't destroy our bed, who gives a rip?

You see, Oscar has a split personality.  He is part GSD, yes he is, but his is also part Tasmanian Dog.  Sporadically between 7am - 9pm this "other thing" comes out to play and "It" is crazy.   You better watch your back and always have your knees bent because "It" will come flying out of nowhere, without any regard to what you are doing, where you are going or what you are wearing and let you know that he has arrived.

The prime time for this creature is in the morning, when it starts flying around the house, hitting its tiny ass on doorways, wiping out on the dog beds scattered about and "It" hits his sweet spot when it launches up onto my freshly made bed.  On the bed, this thing proceeds to spin around like an F5 tornado while bucking around like a wild stallion that is looking for a mate.  "It" is very entertaining to watch, hilarious enough to make your stomach hurt from laughing so hard.  Like a real tornado, however, my hubby and I often times just sit and watch this natural wonder thrive on our fine piece of furniture.

At some point, mid-spaz out, "It" freezes (in a crazied-eye play bow, of course) and waits for our counter offer.  If we don't respond fast enough, or the "right" way - off "It" goes again to another path of distruction...a different part of the house will become the next victim.  Fanny has occassionally been an innocent bystandard...getting clipped and losing her footing, but she's a well seasoned veteran and takes it all in stride.  She's smart.  Very smart.  She can predict this natural wonder before it starts and will disappear to the corner of the house that is safe; her own tornado shelter.  She still watches, but she knows she won't be harmed and waits for it to pass.

My human logic to all of this?  Well, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em!!!  So, on rare occassions, there will be a duo of fury running about the house on 67th Street at 7am in the morning.  The weird skin-creature (that's me for those who aren't following!) will sometimes get down on its hands and knees and do some weird impression of a play-bow and man-oh-man does the Tasmanian Dog like that!  Off he goes...zooming around the hardwood floors again...and, ultimately, up onto the bed.  There is where we both come off this high together...breathing deeply, looking at each other...at times the T-Dog gives me the look...egging me on for more, but I just look away, yawn and lick my lips.  If I had a tail, I would wag it nice and low, slow and steady.  A job well done by both human and canine.  Together we "destroyed" the seriousness in Casa de Holder.  Together we let time freeze and were free to be whatever we wanted, wherever we wanted.