Patti Soldavini

Posts Tagged ‘dog beds’

Concrete Bumper

In animals, dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 02/10/2013 at 9:50 am

"Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz"

“Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz”

I am mostly used to having Olive sleep on the bed with me now. Mostly. If only she would stay parallel to me and not perpendicular. (And this from someone who got a ”D” in geometry in high school. Hated geometry, loved algebra. Go figure.) And she’s got such loooooonnnnnngggggg Supermodel legs that when she stretches out across the bed, she’s almost hanging off it. So, my sleeping area becomes truncated; I have only the top two-thirds of the bed to maneuver around. If I were a midget, it wouldn’t be a problem. I’m not tall by any measure, but I need more of the bed than Olive gives me. And I twist and turn a lot. And guess what? So does Olive. She gets up, twirls around, twirls around and plops back down. I try using my legs to guide her to one side of the bed and surprisingly, this usually works. I guess because body language speaks louder than words to dogs. Then she settles in, nudging up against me. I’d say I get the head about 25% of the time, usually it’s the ass. And while emotionally, it feels nice to have her close to me, physically, it’s like sleeping next to a concrete parking space bumper. This dog is 110% muscle. I’m surprised I don’t wake up with bruises. It would be pretty funny to go to the store with your dog to make sure you get the right size bed. “NOPE. THE QUEEN IS TOO SMALL. WE’LL TAKE THE KING SIZE.”

 

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Goldilocks and The Three Beds

In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 04/15/2012 at 9:10 am

"This one feels just right."

It all started with the October snowstorm when Olive and I had to bunk at our neighbor’s home. And Olive had to sleep with me on a small pull-out oversized chaise lounge bed. The only time she will not sleep in her crate is when there’s no cover and she can see me just a foot away from her. Not good enough. The whining and nose whistling will go on for hours until my will is finally broken and I let her out so she can sleep with me. It’s all somewhat ironic because I do this to put an end to the musical performance so I can get some sleep. However, while it’s nice to have her close to me, I get zero sleep because she has to push up against me so hard, it’s as if she is attaching herself to me like a parasitic twin. They don’t refer to weimaraners as “Velcro dogs” for nothing. Then, I let her sleep with me when she wasn’t feeling well and I wanted to keep a close eye on her. Then, it was because of the hurricane. Then it was because of the bear. You get the picture. Olive is now sleeping in the master bed with me every night. It used to be that I let her up on the bed for a half hour or so while I read and then I’d escort her back to her crate. Now, in the middle of the night, I am so exhausted from not being able to fall asleep that I have to pull her off the bed like a piece of Bazooka bubble gum stuck to the pavement on a hot summer day and march her into her crate. And then it starts. I wish you could hear the sounds she makes. A pitiful, plaintive moaning, like she’s been mortally wounded. I don’t know whether to cry or laugh. On the one hand, it’s so primal and sad sounding. On the other hand, because it varies so much in pitch, tone and melody, it’s as though she’s trying very, very hard to speak in broken, mangled English. It sounds as though she is performing the lead role in a melodramatic opera. That’s the best way I can put it. Olive is snoozing on the bed in the guest bedroom this morning. Christ, she’s like Goldilocks. She ends up on every bed in the house. “Oh, I think I’ll try this bed today.” I’m exhausted. I think I’ll go back to my own bed.

Weimaraner Sphinx

In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 01/18/2012 at 8:28 pm

"It MOVES."

As I sit here writing tonight, Olive is curled up like a 24-week old fetus on her brand new Bowser bed in the kitchen. She just came in here a few moments ago to check on me. Seeing that I was safe and had not been abducted by neighborhood vermin, she returned to her new “chocolate bones” microfiber bed. When I purchased this item at Well Bred Pet Store, the owner expressed surprise that I was getting a medium-sized bed for my weimaraner. “OH, THIS ISN’T HER REAL BED,” I say. “THIS IS JUST HER RESTING BED. IT’S SORT OF A COMFORTABLE WEIGH STATION WHILE I’M IN THE KITCHEN.” When I selected this bed, I wanted a fabric that was soft, a little fun or contemporary, wouldn’t clash with the new rug I want to get for the kitchen and was not too big. Well, three out of four isn’t so bad. I get the bed home and drop it in the corner of the kitchen and the thing is as big as a flying saucer. Twelve-hundred people could climb aboard and escape to the moon on it. Then, Olive climbs up on it, ready to sit down, but her legs are as unsteady as a drunken sailor’s. I don’t know what the hell is inside this bed, but it gives the impression that it’s an inflatable. It doesn’t really “give” that much. This is totally unacceptable to Olive. She now races around in a thousand circles this way and that trying to flatten her new “nest.” When this doesn’t work, she starts to maniacally scratch at it with her front paws as though she is digging to the earth’s core trying to find an earring she dropped in the bathroom sink. And then, finally, she gives up and just plops down. And now, I can’t get her up from it. This dog is a riddle wrapped in an enigma and cloaked by a sphinx.

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