April 9, 2009

Much of Gus's life seems to be taken up with the quest for the perfectly comfortable position. He is tireless in his pursuit of this lofty and some times seemingly unobtainable goal.

While Laurie was away recently, I left the bedroom door open at night so Gus could wander in from his bed whenever he felt the need for company. One night he appeared at about midnight and I hauled him up, and quickly went back to sleep. An hour or two later, I awoke to the sound of murmuring, as if people were talking softly in another room. But it was only Gus, making sleepy sounds. He was under the covers, except for his head, which was on the center of Laurie's pillow.

You would think that was true comfort, and sufficient for any dog, but when I awoke a few hours after that, Gus had slithered under my right arm and I was softly petting his side even as I woke up. It was then that I discovered where Early Man got the idea for the rotisserie. Every minute or so, Gus would roll carefully to expose some new, unpetted surface -- his belly, his other side, his back -- so that without my moving, he could be assured of even coverage.

During the daylight hours, when Gus is not barking at passersby or looking for dropped food, he reclines on the sofa, generally atop a throw pillow, and under a green and yellow afghan. When the afghan begins to smell more like a dachshund than most dachshunds, Laurie puts it in the wash. This is crisis-time for Gus, who lays on the sofa, exposed and uncomfortable, and whimpers until the afghan returns, warm from the dryer.

In the evening, during movie time, Gus must choose between the space between my outstretched legs ­ where he can fully extend himself with his ears flapped out like wings ­ or the space between Laurie's outstretched legs and the back of the sofa, or the space between myself and the arm of the sofa, usually underneath the afghan. If he can draw warmth from both Laurie and I at the same time, it's an added bonus. These are not easy choices, and Gus sometimes stands on our laps and looks at each potential space like a shopper judging the ripeness of fruit. Where will I be happiest? Should I curl up or stretch out? Should I remain watchful, or burrow into safety? If somebody gets up, will I have to move?

You can see that it's not just about lying down. There's an art and science to it, and a careful weighing of the consequences. Gus takes on the challenge every day. And when he finally does find a good spot, lies still, inhales deeply and lets out a long sigh, I sigh too.