A kind neighbor passes along issues of The English Home to me when she’s finished with them. Are you familiar with the magazine? It’s wonderful. I always enjoy seeing the interiors of so many beautiful and, frequently, historic houses.
One thing I’ve noted is that many of these homes have at least one dog in residence. And, when asked the question “what should no English home be without?,” many of the home owners respond with the words “a dog.”
I suppose we’d agree. Our three dogs certainly help keep our home cozy and lively. No one is given a chance to feel lonely because there’s always a furry someone tagging along, looking for attention. You can’t even sit on the couches in solitude.
Even when you want to.
And, something as simple as doing one’s poetry assignment can get tricky if there’s a dog around who wants to share a bone.
(Ginger isn’t in pain, as the photo would suggest. If I remember correctly, she was trying to mimic the deep, growly noises Ursa makes when she wants to share something.)
And then there is the enjoyment that comes from the sheer silliness of dogs. Here’s Kipper, sitting on the one remaining snowbank in the back yard. He often seeks out the highest point in the yard from which to survey the woods. And, he remains there long after the other dogs have come in.
I’d love to know what he’s thinking. He looks so funny.
But, lest I suggest we derive all of our entertainment and comfort from the dogs – I must admit the cats offer their share as well. Mr. Wa frequently shows up during math lessons.
He has no respect for textbooks.
And Shadow appears every day when I hang the laundry. She’s taken over the basket where I store my clothespins.
She used to sleep on top of the pins, themselves. But when I noticed this had become her favorite sleeping spot, I transferred the pins to a shoe box and turned the basket over to her. I do this sort of thing more often than I’d care to admit.
In fact, I have to be careful not to let the animals take advantage of my soft heart. Kipper has been trying for months to get us to let him eat at the table with the rest of the family.
So far, I’ve held firm. No dogs as dinner guests. We have to draw the line somewhere.
It’s a feeble attempt at maintaining control, but it’s something.
From the upstairs bedroom, certain your pets must know their place much better than ours do,