It's a dog's life

So, here it is, the first of many (I hope!) blogs to interest, deprecate and mildly amuse.

I have a large-ish kitchen and, a few months ago, my mother suggested that I put a spare armchair she had next to the Aga so I could doze off, comfortably, to NCIS repeats on FX. The chair is a wingback type with ridiculously large arms and it took several attempts to actually get it into the kitchen, squeezing past the dresser and the baby-gate. Finally, after about an hour's huffing and puffing and enough swearing to turn the air blue, the chair was resting peacefully next to the sideboard. Not the Aga. It doesn't fit next to the Aga. So, I will be dozing off looking at a wall and the corner of the washing machine. Or so I thought.

The youngest of my three Jack Russells, who is very affectionate and very much a mummy's boy (or so I thought), has taken over the armchair. Completely. He used to spend every evening on my lap, snoozing away happily, but now he has abandoned me for the questionable comforts of the old, badly-proportioned chair. If I call him to me he ignores me. If I pick him up he jumps right back down and heads for the chair, forcing out whichever dog had craftily taken his place.

This behaviour has got me thinking. Do our dogs love us, or do they look at us merely as objects to be used for their convenience? Are the wagging tails saying 'I missed you', or, 'it's about time you're home, now feed me'! Do they put up with the cuddling and patting because there's a walk and a treat in the offing? And why, after you cradled them for hours as a shivering, skinny eight-week-old puppy, do they abandon you a year later for a thirty-year-old chintzy foam cushion?