Humpetitive

That's right!  She's all mine!

Gordon, sofa & his occasional 3rd, the cow

I've had my hound, Gordon, for about 4 years now.  He's your standard boy dog.  He humps everything that's not nailed down.  Who am I kidding?  He even humps stuff that is.  Over the years, he has shown a taste for overstuffed upholstery aka fat chicks.  Yeah, my hound is a chubby chaser.  My living room sofa is safe.  It's too skinny.  The red sofa in our den?  Look out!  Gordy humps the shit out of it several times a week.  If he's feeling extra frisky (about 1/2 the time) he brings in a 3rd.  He loves his phallic cow.  Add a little Barry White and it's on like a pot of neck bones!

I'm not saying Gordon doesn't occasionally stray.  He's been known to hump the ottoman (remember overstuffed = fat chick) just to get a little strange.  Once or twice, he's nailed one of my Baker armchairs (Baker would be mortified).

get out!

As time goes by, I notice that Gordon doesn't hold the same ardor for the sofa.  Did she get old?  Fat?  Well, fat wouldn't be an issue.  Boring?  maybe.  For whatever reason, Gordon doesn't seem into her anymore.  He's spiraled into a depression.  He will still sleep on her, of course, but they just don't have the physical connection they once shared.  He doesn't have the same gleam in his eye when he "accidentally" pees on the floor.  He doesn't take pleasure in sneaking into the living room to take a dump on my favorite Oriental rug.  His zest for life seems to have faded.  What to do?

After careful consideration, which consisted of two bottles of wine and a very one-sided conversation with my understandably disgusted husband; I decided it was time to take action.  We need to find Gordon a new piece...of furniture.  This brings up another issue.  How do we chose?  We want to pick out something he will like.  Something he can use for years to come.  Unfortunately, he's not allowed in furniture stores.  Even if he were, They wouldn't let him "try out" the merchandise.  I don't want to rush anything, so I start slowly.  I bring home a flyer with a chair on it every so often.  Maybe once a month, I leave out a fabric swatch.  I casually leave furniture catalogs scattered about the house.  Gordon either is too dumb to notice or too trapped in the depths of his despair to care.  I continue to try.  Finally, just last week, as I'm looking at a circular from Pier One; Gordon takes interest in a chocolate velvet club chair.  He whispers, "I'd tap that."