PERHAPS IT WAS INEVITABLE. All of Watson’s four-legged housemates were so much smaller than he was. Day after day, he’d witness them jumping up and down on most pieces of furniture. He’d see them bound up and down their jumbo “perch.” Perhaps most offensively, he’d watch them curl themselves into a tidy bundle of warmth on one of our laps.
And so it appeared from time to time that Watson had no sense, whatsoever, of his actual size. He’d try to squeeze through a group of people as if he were ankle-high, rather than hip-high. He’d nudge a resting, lap-bound feline with his wet, envious nose. And on those very rare days when it must have especially rankled him, after one of us would plop down on the floor to keep him company, he’d back up and sit in our laps.
Of course, it didn’t work out quite as smoothly for a 65pound dog as it did for a 12-pound cat. But he was game to try. To him, getting some quality snuggle time with one of his persons was worth more than anything—even inconvenience or embarrassment.
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