The minute I sit down on the sofa, Mikey appears. It doesn’t matter where he was or what he was doing. Somehow, he knows.
He climbs onto my lap, settles himself against the arm of the sofa, rolls over, and makes himself comfortable. This is his spot.
He has the entire sofa available to him. There are dog beds scattered around the house, blankets, pillows, and plenty of other perfectly comfortable places to sleep. But given the choice, Mikey chooses my lap.
There are, however, expectations. Once I sit down, I’ve clocked in. Mikey determines when my shift is over.
Belly rubs are part of the arrangement, and if I happen to stop before Mikey believes we’re finished, I get this look.
I can be reading, writing, watching TV, or doing absolutely nothing. It doesn’t matter to him. If I’m sitting here, this is where he wants to be.
And I love it.
There’s something pretty special about knowing that out of all the comfortable places in the house, his favorite one is the twelve inches of real estate closest to me.
Dogs really don’t ask for much. A comfortable spot, a belly rub, and their person nearby seem to cover most of the important stuff.
Maybe they’re onto something.
Life According to Dogs: Sometimes your favorite place isn’t really a place at all. It’s a person.
And I’m pretty happy to be Mikey’s.
Anyway—Off We Go. 
© Erica Shoemaker | Anyway—Off We Go
