White Couches and Poopy Paws

Yesterday evening, I sat down with a cup of tea, opened my laptop, and came here hoping for a little inspiration.

I had absolutely no idea what I was going to write about.

Then Walter stepped in dog poop.

Actually, that’s not quite true. Walter stepped in dog poop, came charging through the back door, and jumped straight onto my white couch. It was only after he made himself comfortable that I noticed where he’d just been walking.

There are moments in life when everything seems to happen in slow motion. This was one of them.

“Walter…”

By the time I reached him, there were already little brown paw prints marching across the cushions. Walter looked at me with complete innocence, blissfully unaware that he had just created a problem I didn’t see coming. In his mind, he’d had a wonderful adventure, romping around the yard, found his favourite spot on the couch, and was now ready for a nap. It was, by all accounts, a very successful evening.

If you’ve never owned a dog, this probably sounds horrifying. If you have, you’re probably laughing because you’ve lived some version of this story yourself. Dogs have a remarkable ability to find the one muddy puddle, the one patch of burrs, or, apparently, the one pile of poop that you somehow missed.

The funny thing is that I laughed.

A few months ago, this probably would have felt like one more thing going wrong. One more mess to clean up. One more frustration in a season that already felt heavy.

Yesterday, Walter was just a dog being a dog.

I peeled the covers off the couch, pulled the clean set out of the closet, and started the washing machine. Twenty minutes later, the couch looked exactly as it had before Walter came flying through the door. Walter, of course, had already forgotten the whole thing and moved on to more important matters, like sleeping.

As I was stuffing the dirty covers into the washing machine, I started thinking about the day Nancee and I bought these couches. We were still living in the garage, painstakingly looking at all the fabric samples sent to us by Cozey. We both loved the white fabric. We also both knew we had two hounds. On paper, those two decisions don’t seem like they belong together. We bought the white couches anyway.

When we discovered we could buy a second set of washable covers, we ordered them without thinking twice. At the time, it felt like a practical purchase. It meant we could throw one set in the washing machine and still curl up on the couch that evening. Yesterday, it felt like one of the smartest decisions we’ve made.

Not because it saved the couch.

Because it let us enjoy the couch.

I’ve realized there’s a difference.

It’s easy to spend our lives protecting things from being used. We wait until the house is finished before inviting people over. We save the good dishes for special occasions. We worry about scratches, stains, and things wearing out. Somewhere along the way, we start acting as though the goal is to preserve everything instead of enjoying it.

That’s never really been the home Nancee and I wanted to create.

We wanted dogs curled up beside us while we watched a movie. We wanted friends who felt comfortable putting their feet on the coffee table. We wanted family dinners that were a little noisy, a little messy, and worth cleaning up afterwards. We wanted a white couch because we loved it, not because we expected it to stay perfect forever.

The extra set of covers didn’t just make cleaning easier. It gave us permission to live in our house instead of worrying about it.

This morning, the clean covers are back on the couch. I threw a blanket over one end before Walter came inside.

Not because I don’t trust Walter.

Actually, that’s exactly why it’s there.

Changing the couch covers every week gives me a strange amount of pleasure. I love putting on the clean set. The whole room feels fresh again, and the couch smells wonderful.

Changing them because Walter stepped in dog poop gives me something different.

Gratitude.

Gratitude that yesterday’s problem had yesterday’s solution waiting in the closet.

Walter is asleep beside me as I write this. His paws are clean. The couch is clean. He has no idea he inspired this morning’s blog post.

That’s probably just as well.

Hopefully that’ll be the last time his poopy paws end up on my white couch.

But let’s be honest.

He’s Walter.

I have a feeling he’ll do it again.