The Dog is Everywhere

We moved into an apartment.  A one-bedroom apartment.  It is one of those longish rectangles with a living room, kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom – all in a line.  I’ve drawn a layout of the place:

Dinky Apartment Layout

It’s dinky.

I suppose that in the grand scheme of things, it is much better than living in the slums of Mumbai.  Still, when one is accustomed to a larger space, the confinement is real.

Our dog doesn’t seem to mind.  As a matter of fact, he seems to revel in the fact that we can’t get away, and that we are no more than a few feet away from him at any given point.

In our former residence, we had a second floor that contained our huge master bedroom and bath along with a loft that acted as my husband’s office.  My own office was downstairs in the third bedroom, and our dog, well, he had his own bedroom – the guest bedroom.  That was actually his room.  When folks came over to stay with us, he got booted out into the living room, but otherwise, he slept in that room.  When he wanted to visit us, he would ask permission (whine like a banshee) and once we granted it (yelled at him to shut the f*ck up), he’d run up the stairs so he could wipe the sleepy-eye junk onto the sides of our bed until we’d get up to feed him.

Now, there is no need to whine before he can assault us.  He just assaults us.  In the kitchen.  In the one dinky bathroom.  In the bedroom.  In the living area.  Even when we open the door, he’s right there.  Nose between the door and door jamb before I get a chance to put my stuff down.  The old house was so big it would take him a while to run from his bedroom, down the hall, through the dining and living room, before he could vault himself at us in the mudroom.  By that time, we’d have a chance to put our stuff down.

Now he’s just all over us.  ALL THE TIME.

I’ve thought of closing the doors.

Yes, we do have doors.  Quite a few considering the size of this place.  We have the main door into the apartment.  We have three closet doors down the narrow, short hall.  Another door for the bathroom and a final fifth door for the bedroom.  So many, it’s a wonder how they all fit.

Anyway, I could close him out of the bedroom.

But then he’d whine.

Our Dog
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