Jason's Sneaky Fanny (Another Afghan Hound Story)
by Tina Blue
April 8, 2001
From 1975 to 1987, my then-husband and I had a gorgeous blue brindled domino Afghan Hound named Jason. You have already met Jason if you have read
"Um--Could You Help Me Get My Dog out of That Tree?"
"Um--Could You Help Me Get My Dog out of That Tree?"
Like most pets, dogs want up on the furniture, especially the couch or the bed, where they are not supposed to be, but where they always end up anyway.
Afghan Hounds are especially determined to be up on things, perhaps because they like to climb, perhaps because as sight hounds they have an instinctive desire to have a good vantage point for surveying their territory. Whatever the cause, Afghan Hounds are as insistent as cats about getting up onto things.
Maybe it's just that they know their beauty is best appreciated in a regal setting, as if they were lounging on a throne.
Jason was not allowed on the couch. He knew he was not allowed on the couch. Of course, the minute we left the house he would get up on the couch, though he was smart enough to get down and look innocent the minute he heard the key in the door.
But his need to be on the couch could not be satisfied with the amount of couch time he got while we were both out of the house, so he had to find a way to satisfy this craving even when we were at home. Either that, or he just had to push the envelope, to see whose will was going to dominate.
What he would do is start off lying down in front of the couch. After a couple of minutes, he would stand up, back to the couch, and stretch ostentatiously. At that point, instead of lying back down, he would back his rump into the couch and stand there for a minute. Then slowly, very slowly, he would inch his bottom back onto the couch, scootching slyly, while watching us carefully to see if we were aware of what he was doing.
Of course we were aware, but we got such a kick out of it that we pretended to be otherwise occupied, so he would think we weren't watching.
Over a period of several minutes, Jason would carefully slide his rear end back onto the couch, until finally his hind legs would clear, and his feet would no longer be touching the floor, but dangling from the couch, where his rump was by now securely planted.
The scootching part obviously took a fair amount of concentration, especially since he had to keep an eye on us the whole time. The expression on his face during that maneuver could only be called intense.
But as soon as he had achieved his goal, as soon as his butt was entirely couched, his face would relax and his tongue would come out, as he lapsed into a delighted, self-satisfied doggy grin.
And there he would sit, tush on the couch, hind legs sticking straight out from the couch, and forelegs innocently planted on the floor in front of the couch. Bob and I tried not to laugh out loud, because we didn't want to spoil his sense of triumph.
But he never could leave well enough alone. Once he was sure he'd gotten the better of his dumb owners, he would get cocky. Before too long, he'd get up all the way on the couch, and we'd have to take action: "Jason, get down off the couch!"
With one of those dramatic canine sighs he'd get down and lie once more in front of the couch.
And then, after a couple of minutes, he'd stand up, back to the couch, and stretch ostentatiously . . .
