In recent years, I’ve been finding more and more stuff is leaving the house than being brought in. It seems every time I clean, I have something to toss, something to pass along to someone else, or something for the charity bag, and I like it. I like the space it opens up, and it feels good to streamline and get rid of what is not useful or beautiful. I’d like to say it’s entirely a Zen mindfulness of what we need and what we don’t, or consideration for the environment that makes us reuse, repair, and recycle more and consume less, and in truth, there’s some of that in the mix. But helping us on our way to happy asceticism are three furry critters who regularly destroy things, forcing us to throw them in the trash. It’s really only a matter of time before we are bereft of all possessions that reside within four feet of the floor. Coffee cups, the sunflower seeds we keep in the little cabinet above the stove, and my guitars will be all that’s left to us before long.
This past week, it was the end of my beanbag, ONLY my FAVORITE piece of furniture in the house, and the second one that gave up its life absorbing dog pee (mostly Rocky’s–oh, he looks so sweet and innocent, but he’s a shitbird extraordinaire); this time, it couldn’t be resuscitated because I discovered the inner zipper had given out when I pulled the washable cover off. It is currently our trash for the week; nothing else will fit in the bin. He’s been on a tear, too, because he dug a big hole in our little leather couch. He really does a lot of damage for a 12-pound dog. He keeps up with Daisy, who recently destroyed the latest in a long line of dog beds, actual and makeshift.
I got the leather couch hauled away and picked up a couple of inexpensive chairs to replace it in the library, and this has had the unexpected benefit of allowing a lot more light into the front room. (The couch used to sit in front of, and block part of, the window.) The dogs have taken full advantage of the fact that they may now lie down in the warmth of sunbeams in carpeted comfort, instead of sunbathing lying in the gravel in the backyard, and none so much as Daisy. She’s our resident sun worshipper, and will work on her tan for hours on end, which is not the best plan for a fair-skinned dog who is generally bright pink to begin with, but we can’t stop her short of imprisoning her. From the first moment the morning sun hits the chair on the right until it finally is lost late in the afternoon on the left, she’s there (between snacks, of course); she’s our own personal canine sundial. And she’s pretty adorable.