Mom and Creature

Together Again. . .

Okay, People.

We’ve got to have another one of our little chats.

Ready?

So you know that Mother and Creature have a special relationship, right? And you also know that Mother lives 3,000 miles away, in the San Francisco Bay Area.

Anyway.

Creature is spending 4 months at Chez Mom. No, it’s not because I can’t deal with him anymore, although good guess, especially after the flour incident. The reasons are purely practical, and yes, I do miss him. Tons. I keep reaching to fill his water bowl. I get sad when I accidentally step on a squeaky toy and he doesn’t come running. I drop food, and nobody’s there to pick it up.

At least nobody’s barking, or hogging the bed.

As I’m sure you know, Creature, in spite of his secure, loving upbringing, isn’t the most secure dog in the world (and that’s putting it mildly). Hence the barking. Hence the crying. Which is driving my mother insane.

Especially at night, when he’s alone downstairs and hears things in the back yard.

Not to worry though. My mother has found a solution.

Wait. You may need to brace yourselves for this one.

She’s given him my bedroom, which is right down the hall from hers. She doesn’t want him in her room, so she gave him mine.

She actually made my bed, the fancy one I paid for with money from the very first paycheck I got from my teaching career, with sheets she doesn’t care about.

Technically, it’s not a bed. It’s actually a “European Sleep System.” I have serious trouble sleeping, so this bed was a very necessary purchase.

I can’t get over this. Since 1989, there have been dogs living in that house. And since 1989, they have not been allowed upstairs. Including Creature.

As if this weren’t bad enough, my mother has actually been sending me photos, from her phone, mind you, of the the indentation Creature makes in the pillows.

I so wish I were kidding. But behold:

Um, can you say spoiled?

He’s also luxuriating on her relatively new couch. Here he is, just after waking up from a post walk nap:

Is it just me, or does he look stoned?

You know what, Mother? I’m just not feeling the love here.

Thanks a million for not turning my beloved room into a sewing room the minute I left for college.

But. . .

Is it wrong that I feel I’ve been replaced by a dog?

(By the way, is this not sibling rivalry at its best?)