A Couch Dog

A couch dog is NOT what Lucy was supposed to be. Growing up, none of our dogs were ever, ever allowed on the couch or even upstairs for that matter. For some reason I don’t remember it ever even being an issue; maybe it was my dad’s death stare or some really good training, but our dogs never got on the couch.

It was (and is) my full intention that Lucy would be the same. There was no reason for her to be on the couch; we play with her plenty on the floor and she has her own (semi-expensive) bed that she seemed to adore. Plus, if we allowed her on the couch then essentially she’d have access to all areas of our apartment. Dogs want to be physically elevated to the same level as the pack leaders (which in an ideal world are me and Marty) so in order to maintain our status as “pack leaders,” she shouldn’t be allowed on the couch.

However, Lucy finally got the “ups” (to quote Marty) to propel herself onto the couch. Every time she did so, I lifted her back onto the ground. Things started shifting right before her surgeries, though.

Example #1: Marty giving her extra hugs on the couch the night before surgery

Being a princess and getting hugs and snuggles on the couch

Example #2: This was the sight I was greeted with when walking into the apartment after work one day:

Exploring her new surroundings

 

Example #3: This is the scene I walked into after a late night at work:

Dead asleep, even in the cone of shame.

(Please note the fact that Marty is doing nothing to remove her from the couch and has in fact laid out a towel for her).

Lucy now rules our apartment, and especially Marty šŸ™‚

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