It’s been a while (It’s been a while!) since a we’ve had to say goodbye to a meaningful fixture of our home life, but alas, that time has come once again.
The oxidation-colored couch had been a staple of our living room since we moved into our home way back in 2007. It predates Madison by about 6 months. Over time the pillows sagged, the cushions misshapen by my broad and heavy ass, the fabric surface stained by food and liquid spills and dog slobber. None of these things bothered us, however, until the twins were born and we were forced to sit on the couch for at least half-an-hour every three hours. That’s when it became pretty clear that we’d gotten all we were going to get out of it.
Abby, of course, had no idea that big, strong men were coming today to take away her perch. When the doorbell rang she did her usual thing (lost her mind and ran to the top of the stairs) and I apologized. “I’m sorry for what’s about to happen,” I said to her.
The couch was taken apart and removed from the living room very quickly. Overall, the entire thing took about 25 minutes, and that’s astonishing considering it would have taken about 25 minutes for my brother and me to agree on the best angle at which to attempt to move it down the stairway. Anyway, once both pieces of the couch were downstairs, only a void remained in the living room. I let Abby down and she trotted over to the space. She looked at me in such a pitiful way. WHAT THE F*CK IS GOING ON, HUMAN? her eyes seemed to say.
A few minutes later the delivery men left and our new couch sat pristine in the living room dividing the dining area from the TV area, providing new cushions for my broad and heavy ass to shape as it sees fit. Or unfit. You know what I’m saying. Ugh. Anyway, Abby didn’t quite know what to do with the new couch. She didn’t immediately scale it. In fact, she only popped up on it once I sat on it and called her. It’s like she needed me to assure that it was OK. Good dog, Abby.
Eventually, though, Abby acquainted herself with our new couch, even finding her way to the top of the couch. She roosted in her familiar spot, the kitchen-most back cushion. I don’t know that it has the same spongy quality. It certainly isn’t as broad as the old coach which could support her sleeping on her side. “Well, now Abby needs a bed more than ever!” Lynnette said of Abby’s new plight. Lynnette is fond of ignoring years’ worth of evidence that Abby humps and tears apart dog beds when given the chance. “She’s not a puppy anymore!” Lynnette says. I, for one, am not as trusting of the dog who takes spite dumps on the carpet 3 inches away from her pee pad.
Like Abby, though, I will miss the couch. It was the first couch I ever bought with my own money, but also with Lynnette’s money. That couch and I have seen some good times- mid-day naps when no one else was home, the Mets playoff run this season, those days when I had a functioning video game console, making bases with Madison- and some bad times too, like when I would get home from a night out and decide I wasn’t in the mood or shape to take a shower; when Lynnette and I would fight and I would have to sleep out there; and every single time I sat or laid on it only to feel an Abby-saliva wet spot touch my skin.
So thank you, rust-colored couch. You did your job well. Who knows? Maybe if my ass wasn’t so phat we could have gotten a year or two more out of you. Anyway…