When we moved into our house, we had great plans for our upstairs room. It sported ugly old Venetian blinds, grossly discoloured yellow curtains and heinous light fixtures. The feature that sealed the deal, however, was the green, brown, black and white shag pile carpet. I'm not kidding.
We're talking approx 24 square meters of what resembles a wave of vomit. I'm going to show you a picture so that you fully appreciate what we're dealing with here.
|It feels as good as it looks|
I imagined this room would become a parent's retreat and I visualised myself bathed in natural light, reclining on my own cream coloured chaise, reading happily in the silence while sipping a chilled white wine.
But then I remembered I have children. So that little daydream was just plain silly. Indecisive, we went back and forth on ideas of what to do with the space while in the mean time, it evolved into a rumpus / guest room / gym / study. We made no actual changes to the room other than just adding stuff. And it works for us, at least for now.
So back to the dog. In the 4 years we've been here, I have never invited nor allowed the grey bearded staffie upstairs. I'm petrified that one random flea might just move on in, take up residence in the fur like carpet and build a small army. I'm scratching just thinking about it. Not that my dog would ever have a flea. Umm, moving on...
Yesterday, in some crazy snap decision, canine decided to follow me up stairs. I was too surprised to stop her, watching with a big goofy grin on my face as she made her way up the slippery wooden treads, dying to see what she'd do. When she reached the top, it was all on.
For Lucy, this was the equivalent of going for a walk down an unfamiliar bush track covered in peanut butter plants. She was sniffing like her life depended on it. The tail was swinging frantically, enough to move the whole back end of her nugget body and the pace picked up even more when I spoke to her (as you do).
That's when delighting in her shifted to concern. She loves this. She thinks it's like being at the park. She thinks the shag-pile is like grass.
She thinks the shag-pile is grass.
I swiftly scolded her and dragged her away, her paws barely skimming the stairs on the way down. She was given a good hour outside, with the real grass, to think about her behaviour. The kids, when I relayed the story later, thought it was hilarious. Husband, not so much.
|Lucy, flatly refusing to look at the camera.|
Upstairs remains a no-go zone for Lucy.
Has your dog ticked you off today?