Tail of a Wedged Dog

Poor Seamus.

He's my dog with little brain who often evokes Eeyore with his sad "thanks for noticing" look whenever he is feeling blue and unappreciated.

This morning he and Augie were lounging on the bed with me while I attempted to read a book. All that page-turning caught the attention of Little Beans, the feisty and lovable white puppy who bothers Seamus to no end. To say Seamus is jealous of Little Beans is like saying that Hamlet's father had some anger issues.

My gentle and sweet brown dog has been known, on occasion, to go after the feisty white puppy - teeth bared, growling, and with injury on his mind. (What 'mind' he has. Sigh.)

So, when Little Beans joined us on the bed and wedged his little body into my chest and under my neck so that my attention was on HIM and not the BOOK, Seamus decided to wedge his long dachshund body likewise, but against my back and shoulders, since I happened to be in the way of him moving the white dog out of the way.

Augie, not to miss out, chose a wedge-like position also - against my stomach.

I was one wedged-in dog owner. And remained so for several pages until the desire to move became overwhelming.

Now, in the past - when Seamus has gone after the puppy, I have pushed him off the bed in punishment. I don't know if the Dog Whisperer would approve, but my options are limited when Seamus bares his fangs and intends harm for Little Beans, who is arguably the cutest puppy in town. This is a fact not lost on Seamus - who doesn't understand that being the cutest longhaired dachshund in town has its advantages. Or that he is technically NOT a puppy anymore.

So I wiggle a bit and when I attempt to move up on my pillow I unintentionally shoved Seamus right off the bed - into the tiny little spot right between the nightstand and the bed.

When he doesn't move, I figure he is stunned by my behavior. So I reach down and pet him and tell him I am sorry and to come back up.

Seamus doesn't move.

I adjust myself and start reading again - with Augie and Beans happily wedged into my left side.

But then I start thinking about Seamus, who must be in a snit - he isn't coming back. He isn't moving at all. So my mind flashes on the possibilities - I've injured him, he hit his head and is comatose, his leg is broken, he has internal injuries....

I look down.

Seamus is WEDGED in between the bed and nightstand. He couldn't move if he wanted to. His short legs are attempting to move but his long body won't follow suit. So he stays, convinced he's done something REALLY BAD this time because he won't even look at me.

I unwedge him, which takes awhile, but he won't get back on the bed.

I decide to shower and have coffee. Seamus stays put the whole time.

After my shower and breakfast I come back upstairs to find Seamus on my pillow, looking forlorn and dejected.

I take him downstairs to use the backyard canine potty facilities. He does so but won't come back inside - convinced that he is the worst dog in town.

I'm thinking that Dog Wedging must have some serious connotations in the Dog World. You do it when you want possession of the Alpha Female (that would be me). You do it for security and because it is a dogly thing to do.

But to be wedged to the point where you can't move? Now there's some serious issues there - I just wish I knew what they were....