The life of Cleo

Today I tried to lie in the chair of our all-time favourite rottweiller, Cleo.
It made creaking sounds as I curled up on the ripped leather - the stuffing getting squeezed out of its various exits as I did. The chair is parked in the hall, so that whenever someone enter the house - she will be the first one to know. She usually greets you by spreading her legs and giving it all a good wash - just then to smile at you and wag her tail with mellow enthusiasm.

Depends who you are of course, she's a people-person, and she knows what kind of people she should wag her tail to.
It really depends on a persons rank in the food-chain, you know. For the sake of most people, she doesn't even get out of her chair, but she always wags that tail, no matter who it is.
For mum and step-dad, grandparents, long-gone siblings, aunts, uncles or any other rare species she'll explode out of the leather like a jet-furball and wriggle around the floor, erupting long whines and penetrating barks. She would look at them with crystalline eyes, smile from yoda-ear to yoda-ear and become soft as a living room cushion.

Of course, lying in her chair, and feeling much like a pineapple trying to fit into a paper envelope - I realize why she is so selective about her attention. Someone has opened the front door and is letting a draft in, to be honest I'd much rather lie here (most uncomfortably tangled up with my own body parts) and listen to the vast, odd and mysterious sounds of my own digestive system.

Much like meditation, neck-pains, the other strange burp being cramped out of me after the other, and then a strange contemplative stare creates a film over my eyes, a mild apathetic warmth spreads and suddenly a peculiar urge to scratch behind my ears with my toenails appear.


Audun said...


Anonymous said...

Lice... behind your ears..
Tante bister

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