First, remove the visual concept of the metal filing cabinet that goes to the floor. Ain’t happening here! My filing cabinet is wood with cabriole legs. So it sits six plus inches off the floor. (See the June 6 "Hide 'n Seek" post’s photo for reference.)
Second, imagine my little doxie begging to be let up in my lap while I work: The endless nose nuzzles; the little hind legs’ continuous hopping; and her little tail wagging away in earnest. It’s hard to say “no” to such cuteness. Nevertheless, sitting on my lap often means further attempts by a certain doxie to breach the desk top. We need no dachshunds on sentry monitoring the parapet! It’s a looooooooooooooonnnnnnnnng way to the floor. So if I must say “no” to my lap, does she curl up in the bed provided next to me on the floor? No!
I hear this light scraping sound, and whoosh! She’s gone out of sight! Where…? Under the filing cabinet next to me, of course. She loves this little safety zone. Wastebasket’s on one side, floor lamp’s on the other. Nice cool ceramic tiling. She’s completely tucked away, safe as…well…a hot dog in a bun! (Ha! Ha! Sorry, couldn’t resist.)
How can they like this, though??? We humans dislike ceilings lower than eight feet. We start to feel claustrophobic. Imagine the same ceiling just above your head – or just above your head while sitting at a desk or your sofa. Yuck! Yes, doxies are definitely wired differently. They like their fox holes and their caves.
This is not to say that she doesn’t get LOTS of lap time. She does. Krispy frequently is willing to curl up in my lap while I work at my desk. And like all lap dogs, you then absolutely don’t want to disrupt them to get up for a glass of water. Anything not to disturb the Sleeping Beauty! But, alas, at some point…awwwwwww. Sorry-to-bother-you-but-I-need-to-stretch! And the guilt for disturbing them settles in…. And the great saucer-shaped eyes beg,"Pleeeeeeeeze! Can I sit in your lap some more??”
“Krispy, I have to work,” I explain, assuming she understands English perfectly well. (Ha!) And she nuzzles her nose in again while dancing on her back legs, but I hold my ground (or rather, my seat). And what do I hear?
Scrape, scrape, whoosh! That’s the girl under the filing cabinet.