Dog Under the Desk

I have a dog that lives under my desk. I haven't quite figured out why as it's cramped, cold, and I occasionally forget she's there so she ends up with my foot in her mouth. But every day she keeps me company, faithful as, er, a hound. Ahhhh, that must be where that expression originated.

I'm not quite sure why she's attached herself to me. I don't feed her, water her, or walk her as those are responsibilities attached to other people. I don't even talk to her as I mostly forget she's warming my feet. Yet every morning once I get up and carry my coffee into my office, she nudges the door open and trots in here to curl up under the desk.

Maybe it's the steady clack of the computer keys as I write. Maybe it's the occasional music of my Josh Groban or Susan Boyle CDs. Maybe it even the blinging of the windchimes outside my window. I don't know.

But each day as I plot and ponder the next step in the writing process, there she sleeps, keeping me company in the most unobtrusive way. Dogs are quiet.

The cats meander in, demand attention, snarl, knock stuff down, try to climb my legs, walk on the keyboard, and generally annoy me until I toss them out. Maybe that's the difference. The dog is restful. The cats are restless.

Anyway, until the doggie's family moves on, we'll enjoy each others companionship.

anny