Several weeks ago, when someone in our house was trying to entice Kanti to overcome her fear of stairs we said we were okay with her staying upstairs. We had visions of her dragging all the cushions off the couch in the basement and discovering the extra bathroom outfitted with the perfect water bowl and the wonder of another garbage to explore. Turns out our visions of the future were right. That super-sized lapdog we call Kanti has taken over every available lap upstairs and down.
It took a few days after the initial forays into the basement for her to get the courage or maybe it was the curiosity to venture down on her own. I thought she might never do it on her own, but I was wrong. One afternoon when the sky turned black and severe weather warnings were being issued, I decided to bring her into the house with me. She was more than happy to join me in the comfort of the house and I went back to work on the computer. Suddenly, I had that mum-sense that it was far too quiet and something must be amiss. I called her but there was no response. I searched every open room on the main floor without success. Then it dawned on me, that she must be in the basement.
Sure enough when I flipped on the lights I could see that rascal, sitting on the couch in the basement. She was curled up in a very cute ball with a high heeled leather boot between her paws. From that vantage point, she looked up the stairs at me as if to say "what's the problem?" In that moment I knew life as I had known it had changed significantly for the rest of Kanti's life.
The good news is that she is getting extra snuggling time every night with the semi-permanent basement dwellers. The bad news is that every door in the basement has to be closed, the boots have to be put away, and any clothing left lying around is free game for the snatch, run, and fling it around routine. There are other side benefits though. We found out that we can play catch down the stairs with her for exercise when the skies turn black dispensing rain and hail. It's a much safer place for me to be than out on the trail with her if there is lightening. And Kanti can just go downstairs and crawl into the nearest lap for a cuddle if she needs more love. That leaves me with a big question. How is it possible for her to need more love?
Maybe, we are all secretly lapdogs just wanting someone to love us the way we are. It struck me that humans aren't very good at indicating that they need some affection. Kanti rubs up against my leg when she wants to be petted. She lays down and rolls over when she wants a belly rub. She thinks she is being subtle when she puts those giant paws on your lap then surreptitiously lifts her back paws up one at a time until she is sitting on your lap. Without any words, she is able to let us know what she wants. I'm observing all of this closely. Warning to my family, I might become a lapdog. Looks like a great life.