Nothing focuses like a Nikon

Nine. I think that's how many days we lasted keeping the dogs off the new couches we bought when we moved to Portland last summer. They put the love in loveseat.

And so we surrendered, as we so often do when it comes to these hairy little heathens who make us laugh at least 117 times per day, because while couches can be cleaned (though we they never will) or replaced, Alder and Nikon cannot be.

When I used to work in an office, I'd often wonder what the dogs did all day. Sometimes, there were clues. Like the time a gnawed plastic bottle formerly filled with Women's-One-A-Day multivitamins was found on the floor, alongside one of no less than 19 piles of orange puke strategically spewed around the house (not on her bed of course) and a very sheepish looking Alder. Or when Nikon -clearly frustrated that his lack of opposable thumbs made book reading rather difficult- plastered our living room with pages shredded from the books Kyle and I had just given each other for Hanukkah (one each night- that's a lot of pages).

Other times, it's not so obvious, and that makes us very, very nervous.

But the benefit of working for the most part from a home office means I get to see how their schedule unfolds. How Alder moves around the house following the sun and how Nikon...ohh, Nikon.

He's recently become obsessed with squirrels, and spends his day racing from window to window, where he'll stand sentry sometimes for hours, his droopy lips draped over the sill, his eyes darting about the lawn seeking the slightest sight of gray. They taunt him, nibbling their nuts just feet from them, and that makes his tail twitch with such fervor, I fear he's having a seizure.

It's sad really. And what he'll do if he actually ever catches said squirrel is unimaginable, but two weeks ago Tuesday, we almost found out. He was tearing after one, only to be intercepted by our neighbor's Subaru, which he ran into with such force, he left a dent in it before flipping over the hood and landing in a heap on the pavement. Surprisingly, he was unharmed, a bit ashamed for sure but besides letting out an angry bark of frustration at her car, he walked away as if nothing had happened, never letting on that his dream had been so suddenly snatched from him.

But ever since, his squirrel searching has become more secretive, and more and more, he's started to stalk them from the safety of the couch, where at least there are pillows in place for a softer crash landing. The harder he concentrates, the harder it is for me to.

Usually, he'll just hang his head over the back of the couch, which faces the front window.


Sometimes, he'll try to hide in the shadows. I love how the sun causes him to squint here.


When a squirrel is spotted, he'll actually stand on the arm of the couch to get a better look. Admire his focus (now you know why we named him Nikon).


Occasionally, he gets too frustrated to take it, and rolls over with regret.

But he'll soon be back, alert as ever with his whiskers primed to pick up the signal of another squirrel. (Fact, if you touch a dog's whiskers, they will automatically blink.)


How do your devious dogs spend the day?