Tattletale

When we were rearranging furniture a few months back, we finally decided to get rid of a couple of old living room chairs.  Hand-me-downs from Mike's parents (as much of our furniture is), they are short, squat things of a indeterminate beige coloring.  When we bought our first house, I purchased slipcovers for them to disguise the way the cats had shredded the backs into non-existence.  Choosing the least hideous of the patterns available was a challenge, so for some time they were short, squat things covered in giant blue cabbage roses.  Most recently, they have served the sole purpose of providing comfortable seating for the quatrain of cats that own us.  If you, yourself are owned by even a single cat, I'm sure you will understand why it took us so long to act upon our desire to dispose of these chairs.  Having experienced a full and productive existence, the chairs were finally moved to the garage, the purgatory our belongings end up in for that endless period of time before we finally load them in the trailer and take them to the dump.

But this isn't just a story about chairs.  This is mostly a story about my dogs, Trooper and Wiggles.  Trooper is a 7 year old black lab mix.  He has a stocky build, huge paws, and a head shape that makes people ask if there is pit bull in his lineage.  (Maybe?  I don't know.)  He has a sweetly serious temperament, taking everything I say to heart.  Although he doesn't pick up commands as quickly as his sister (Mia) did, once he understands what I want of him, he does it without question or complaint.  The only thing he won't do, no matter how much I command, suggest or cajole, is set foot in water.  You would think a lab who experiences 100 degree temps every summer would love getting wet, but Trooper would rather roast to death than put one paw in the wading pool we provide for them. 

Wiggles, on the other hand, loves the water.  She not only stands in the pool, she lays down and rolls around in it.  Wiggles is a black lab/retriever mix.  She's probably about 3 years old.  She appeared out of nowhere a couple years ago, a mostly grown, not quite starving pup who was desperate for some love and attention.  She would climb over our 6 foot chain link fence (as just about any dog in the neighborhood, including my own, can apparently do) and cavort with Mia and Trooper for awhile before we noticed her, causing her to climb back over the fence and run off.  This went on for several days before I finally told her that if she wanted to stay with us she had to stop reminding Mia and Trooper how easy it was to climb the fence.  I put the training collar on her and did a few laps showing her what I meant.  She was a quick learner, needing only the beeps and my tug on the leash to get her to understand.  "She's a smart one," I told Mike.  Ha!  I spoke too soon.

Wiggles is well meaning and eager to please, but she's a far cry from smart.  Lucky for her, she is ridiculously adorable.  As soon as she sees you, her whole body starts to wag (hence the name) and she immediately starts searching the vicinity for a stick or rock or blade of grass or something to hold in her mouth.  Her life would be perfect if she could spend every waking minute and most of the sleeping ones jammed up against a human being who would consent rub her chin nonstop until the end of time.  Being a youngster, she is full of energy and loves to play.  Her favorite game is Annoy the Hell out of Trooper.  She bumps into him, bites at his legs, runs circles around him, and generally does all the things an annoying little sister would do to inspire an older brother to lose his cool and start chasing her in circles.  She's very good at this game.

Although I am the Alpha of my little pack of canines, Trooper is the second in command.  He eats first, he has the best territory, and he is the first to chase off the cars that occasionally drive past our house.  Wiggles constantly challenged Mia's status in the pack, probably because she knew Mia was sick, but she never challenges Trooper's authority.  He is the clearly established dominant.  Except for one thing.

Here's where the chairs come in.  During the recent rainy monsoon season at our house, we let the dogs reside in the garage for a couple of the wettest, most miserable days.  During that time, Wiggles discovered The Chairs.  You can tell that's how she thinks of them, with capital letters.  She loved The Chairs and spent the remainder of the rainy days snuggled down in one or the other.  By the time the rain stopped, she had grown so attached to The Chairs that it broke her little heart when she was once again restricted to the out of doors, chair-less.  Every time I would open the garage door to fill their food bowls, she would sneak inside and hunker down on one of The Chairs, pleading with her sweet, brown eyes for me to let her stay there.  Finally, I gave in and moved The Chairs out into the kennel area.  She and Trooper both prefer to sleep on the chairs than in the igloos unless it is exceptionally cold and windy.  Even then, Wiggles will often stay on The Chairs, causing me to fret about her well-being and cover her with a blanket.  (I know... I know... ) 

Somewhere along the line, Trooper decided that he liked one of The Chairs better than the other.  Perhaps because of the feel of the cushions.  Perhaps because of the way Wiggles had gnawed an arm of the other one to destruction.  Perhaps because of some doggie reasoning that I will never know or understand.  Whatever the reason, Trooper only likes to sleep in His Chair.  Wiggles, being the brattiest of bratty little sisters, immediately decided that she, too, preferred sleeping in His Chair.  And since she is usually the first to settle in for the night while Trooper is still securing the property, she is often in His Chair when he wants to go to bed.

He's the bigger, stronger dog who has been here longer and has a higher standing in the hierarchy of our pack.  You'd think he could handle this.  You would be wrong.  Instead of making her move, he sits next to the chair and barks.  Not the 3 note bark that he uses to warn trespassing cars and animals of his presence.  Not the howling bark that he uses to commune with his coyote brethren.  One single, sharp bark.  I have secretly observed him doing this through a window.  He is sitting in front of her, but he is barking in my direction.  He wants me to know that she is in His Chair.  If he happens to see me moving around on the other side of the window, he runs over to the edge of the kennel, stares intently at me, and repeats his one sharp bark.

The first time this happened, I was confused.  Was he hurt?  Had something gotten in the yard?  Had I forgotten to feed them?  Then, I suddenly recognized the tone of his bark.  I recognized it from my years in the classroom, my hours of playground duty, and my own personal experiences with younger siblings who liked to take my things and drive me crazy (and whom I may have, on rare occasion, tortured in return).  I knew exactly what he was trying to say.

"Mooooooooooooooom!  Wiggles won't get out of my chair!"

My dog, Trooper, is a tattletale.