toby & i constantly vie for supremacy in the Furniture Wars of 22 F1. dominance usually depends on the battle's locale. if strife occurs in the living room, four legs often prevail over two, & the fighting at Couch Hill ends in my defeat. if, however, the conflict spills over into my bedroom, the tables are turned, & i continue to reign supreme over Dreamland Fun-time Palace.
last night, however, there was a sneak attack.
i strolled into my bedroom, having exhausted the spare hour so graciously given us by DST's expiration. i'd left the door open, a trust not normally manifested, but, as of late, toby had been preferring his bed for mine. he hadn't jumped up on my glorious pillow mound of sleep. i was grateful for the détante. i thought, "how lovely. we can finally live together in peace." however, this gesture of harmony was only an act; i would soon come to realize my dog for the master of duplicity that he truly is.
& begin scene:
me: you traitor! you vile flea-monger! get thee off mine bed!
me: i can still see you!
me: ignore me at your own peril, dog.
me: how can you NOT care? i'm really tired! i worked all afternoon & evening! my arms & wrists are falling off, i've been writing for practically forever, & i'm falling apart at the seams! you love your mama! you can't be so uncaring as to--
me: that's cold, toby. ice cold. [sigh] will you at least think about getting down & sleeping on your own bed? please? be a good boy, will ya?
me: at least consider it. your mama will <3 you for always if you let her slee--
Epilogue...
the battle did end that night, in uglier, more desperate fashion than had been seen in all of the Furniture Wars. driven to the edge by her lack of sleep & the unwavering defiance of her charge, the mistress of the house unflinchingly reached for her only remaining recourse. the cup was full. his eyes were closed. soon, cold water was poured upon his head, startling him, waking him. he jumped off & looked ruefully at his mistress.
"this isn't over," his eyes menaced. "this isn't over."
last night, however, there was a sneak attack.
i strolled into my bedroom, having exhausted the spare hour so graciously given us by DST's expiration. i'd left the door open, a trust not normally manifested, but, as of late, toby had been preferring his bed for mine. he hadn't jumped up on my glorious pillow mound of sleep. i was grateful for the détante. i thought, "how lovely. we can finally live together in peace." however, this gesture of harmony was only an act; i would soon come to realize my dog for the master of duplicity that he truly is.
& begin scene:
me: you traitor! you vile flea-monger! get thee off mine bed!
me: toby! you heard me! get down! now.....
me: i can still see you!
me: ignore me at your own peril, dog.
me: how can you NOT care? i'm really tired! i worked all afternoon & evening! my arms & wrists are falling off, i've been writing for practically forever, & i'm falling apart at the seams! you love your mama! you can't be so uncaring as to--
me: that's cold, toby. ice cold. [sigh] will you at least think about getting down & sleeping on your own bed? please? be a good boy, will ya?
me: at least consider it. your mama will <3 you for always if you let her slee--
Epilogue...
the battle did end that night, in uglier, more desperate fashion than had been seen in all of the Furniture Wars. driven to the edge by her lack of sleep & the unwavering defiance of her charge, the mistress of the house unflinchingly reached for her only remaining recourse. the cup was full. his eyes were closed. soon, cold water was poured upon his head, startling him, waking him. he jumped off & looked ruefully at his mistress.
"this isn't over," his eyes menaced. "this isn't over."
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