
There are a couple of problems associated with this chair. One is that there is not really enough room for me and all three dogs to fit without some jostling for position. Usually Benny ends up looking for an in while Patrick and Lytton settle themselves on either side of me. He paces for awhile, watching for an opening. Eventually he jumps up on the chair nearby, then slinks onto the table between the two chairs. He sits there nonchalantly, hoping for no consequences. When it looks like he is safe, he slowly puts one front foot and then the other on the arm of the new chair. If the dog nearest that arm doesn't chastise him, he jumps onto the back of the chair and lays down behind my head.
At this point another problem surfaces in that I can not get out of the chair without disturbing everyone. The seat is so long that only my feet hang over the edge of it. Therefore I have to heave myself forward until I can reach the floor. Since I have to get up and down several times in the course of an evening for one reason or another, the dogs all jump down and the same ritual of finding a spot has to take place again.
As for the claustrophobia, I have achieved a sense of more space by moving some big funiture around to different rooms and putting a lot of plants out in the studio. That meant totally rearranging the studio. I put a lot of the stuff that was out there up in the spare bedroom, along with a bookcase and a bureau. I have achieved a more serene atmosphere, especially in the dining room, which was the most crowded. The added bonus is that I had to wash the floor in places that had been covered with furniture. Therefore all the floors got washed, giving an unusual sense of cleanliness to the place.
It's amazing how one thing like moving a plant starts a chain reaction that ends up changing the whole house. I could describe a whole existential philosophy that is illustrated by this simple fact, but I guess I won't.
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