Rocky was about 5 years old when I went off to college. At home, my bedroom faces the street, like a bowling alley and the house is the pin. The bed is up against the window, where I can look out the window as I lay my head to bed every night. I like it, I get to wake up to the sunrise through the window and I can always see who is coming to the house. Rocky likes it too. I went to university and spent two years on the other side of the state, meanwhile, my bedroom has been co-opted by the dog. He lays there looking out the window at all passersby, he sleeps in the sun, and he hogs the pillows. When I returned from college I was met with this problem – a roommate, no, more than a roommate. A landlord! I was no longer the sole inhabitant of the room, rather I was the second of a pair.
Sharing a one-bedroom is tough enough as it is, never mind sharing with someone who doesn’t speak English…. or doesn’t speak at all. I try to be stern with him, make him leave, and go back to his bed – of which he has 4 – but after the first month, he no longer responds. He looks at me, knowing that I am but an ant, telling a grasshopper what to do.
Since I have returned home, I have learned to work with him. He leaves the room in the morning while I make the bed, I have convinced him to share the pillows. However, do not confuse this sharing and compromise with equality. If I close the door, he scratches and whines until it opens for him. If the bed does not get made in sufficient enough time he takes all the sheets and blankets off himself. If I leave the room in a disastrous state, he will let me know by spilling the trashcan and knocking over the items he thinks should be removed. I am not an equal roommate, much more often I am a servant of the dog who allows me great freedom to live with him in his room.
Dog Rocky the Landlord
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