Sofa surfing
Well, we had a rather nice weekend. There was a good bit of sunshine, we did a bit of bowling (slightly spoiled by some rather unseemly sulking by the losers, sorry, I mean LOOOOOOSERS!!!! – some people are so sensitive), ate an enormous roast dinner, followed by a strawberry and peach crumble (recipe to follow when I remember), failed to finish the crossword and generally slobbed about a lot. The dog, I had to report to J in a feverish text, has discovered the sofa.
I know, I know…I already feel guilty that my otherwise non-dog-blog has been hijacked by the pointy of nose and now, understandably, most people will be tutting and shaking their heads in horror at the thought of my allowing a dog on the sofa, but honestly, it’s a real milestone. Firstly, this is because B is rather reserved, and always has that ‘oh blimey, have I done something wrong?’ look on her face apparently common to rehomed greyhounds for the first few weeks. J assures us this will pass as she gets to know that we’re her new family. The visit to the sofa, therefore, shows that she’s becoming slightly braver and more accustomed to her surroundings. Secondly, greyhounds don’t really shed, and don’t really smell (well, unless they have wind which is another matter altogether, in which case they can clear a room in two seconds flat), so a quick blanket thrown over the sofa is quite sufficient. But crikey, what a performance. I think it goes with the territory when your legs are as long as Jerry Hall’s, but the sofa brings its own dangers as it’s not possible to do the old ‘fifteen laps and I’m still ahead’ routine normally employed by B of spinning round and round in ever decreasing circles before finally collapsing in a big heap. It all looks such an effort, and I can totally understand that once she’s got herself down there, she’s rather reluctant to get back up again (or that could be just bone idleness actually). Er… where was I? Oh yes, the sofa. So, firstly we have to lift our front legs up, then, after several near misses, one of the back ones comes up too, and finally, with a huge heave and sometimes a rather unladylike grunt, the final leg is lifted and the body simultaneously plopped onto the sofa. If there happen to be some stray legs still underneath the body in any kind of weird position, they’re just left there and crushed. It’s painful to watch. What’s slightly less painful to watch is the gradual shifting of position under we master the pinnacle of greyhound positions, the ‘dead spider’: flat on one’s back with all those legs and the tail bent in towards the body at ridiculous angles.
So it’s true, then, what I read about the one downside to owning a dog as fast as a greyhound: they may well beat you to the sofa.
