Every member of a family attaches importance to objects in the home. I take great pride in collecting wine for every occasion, Grant’s computer is pretty much off-limits to the rest of us, and Daisy owns the couch.
When we first got Daisy, we agreed that she would not be allowed on the furniture immediately, but rather would be conditioned towards being on the furniture “by invitation only.” She made short work of that rule. The first time we threw a toy for her, she took a running leap across the apartment, jumped onto the couch, and proceeded to chew. We told her to get off the couch. She did as she was told, and on the next throw, jumped right up. She eventually learned that she could sleep on the couch when we weren’t looking. (She treated the bed the same way.)
Eventually, she trained us, and was permitted on the couch full time. She demands a full cushion to herself, and if we’re both up there on a lazy Sunday afternoon and I dare to touch her with my feet, I am admonished with a large “huff”, a glare, and off she goes to her own bed. Whereupon she continues to look at me as if I am some kind of evil monster who has taken her one true love.
We find her toys half buried in the cushions, she uses the backrest as a tightrope on the way to the bay window, and she requires her own pillow for her head. If there’s two of us already laying on the couch, she’s not worried. She squeezes into a space on the very edge, and wiggles until we give her space, or she just lays on top of us. It’s her couch.
In fact, when we moved, she whined and paced for the whole week we didn’t have any furniture. When she entered the house after the furniture delivery? She grabbed her favorite toy, jumped on the couch, and went immediately to sleep. From that moment, she was fine.
Nothing can stop true love, it can only be delayed for a while.