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The Couch Hog

Updated on July 5, 2011
Cletus, the action figure
Cletus, the action figure


Somebody's getting sleepy.

It's time for bed, but ...who gets the couch? During the day, momma is the undisputed queen of the couch But at night... as soon as she goes to bed, it comes up for grabs. May the best man ...or beast win! At the moment Cletus, who is technically a dog but is currently unaware of that staus, is sprawled out on the floor in front of the heater. I'm on the computer at the desk. It's getting late.

Momma gets up and ambles off to bed. The door closes! We both pretend not to notice the couch has become vacant. Like something of a game between chess and tackle football, we stealthily position ourselves for the contest. I yawn. I stretch and move toward the couch surreptitiously. Cletus yawns. I'm eyeing the couch. Cletus eyes me eyeing the couch. Like a fast draw shoot-out at high noon in the old west, we both square off, stone-faced seeing who will move first. It's a contest-of-wills, loser blinks ...and then in a blur of motion we both dart for it! In slow motion it probably would have looked like a scene out of 'Chariots Of Fire'.

Let the contest begin!

Round One goes to Cletus! That's the fastest he's moved since supper. He claims his prize, sprawling out on the couch and looking just a little too smug. "You may have won the first round, 'Bucko' but I have some tactics at my disposal yet to employ! It aint over yet," I warned him. He looks up at me but says nothing!

Round Two...

For the moment brawn has prevailed. However in a moment of devious desperation, I lure him off the couch with a morsel of food. As soon as he gets up, I grab the couch and claim my prize. But it was a premature celebration and my revelry was soon preempted. As soon as he finished his snack ...he launches himself arching skyward like the space shuttle. His trajectory carries him overhead, hurtling toward me like a tomahawk missle. I see him airborne moments before impact. pausing in mid-air like some mythological beast. Too late to move, I curl up in the fetal position and brace for impact. 120 pounds of Great Dane lands on me like a trampoline.


Kong-zilla has arrived! A massive Great-Dane-sized paw is suddenly parked on my head. But it's not over yet! It becomes a brutal contest, one not paralleled on the grid iron or wrestling ring in all the annals of conflict. We go at it, tussling like two first-graders at recess. Suddenly the door swings open and momma barges into the room. Uh oh! We both know we're in trouble. The battle pauses momentarily while she scolds us.

"What is all that racket? Will you two stop acting like children?!!"

We're paused in mid-struggle, frozen like toy action figures, his paw on my head. I've got him in a headlock and one of us has his teeth around the others' leg. She gives us one last scowl and then goes back to bed. No sooner does the door shut, the battle is rejoined. But then it ends as suddenly as it began. He wedges his posterior end between me and the back of the couch. A moment later... Thump! I'm on the floor looking up.

The Couch-Hog wins!

Man's Best Friend????

Who says? Alll that's off when it's bedtime and only one couch!


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