12-steps down to our basement.
The Man Cave.
A big-screen TV, a separate room with a full fridge of liquids, and another door leads to a full pantry of snacks. We recently moved the furniture so that the two La-Z-Boy recliners are next to each other (so that Whitey and I are seated next to each other, just like old folks!), and the sofa is pushed up against a corner where the boys can have at it.
At one time, it was a decent place to have guests sit. Now, it’s a full-length bed made of fur.
At this point it would be not only impossible, but would be cruel to tell the boys that they aren’t allowed on the sofa. They prefer it to their own dog beds, and I imagine that they love the cave-like atmosphere that the basement allows.
Plus, there’s just enough room for me to pull off a full cuddle puddle where I smother the rottweiler in a full-nelson and the brindle jumps down from his post to lick my face until I give up.
I don’t know if Cesar Millan will feature them again in his next book with these antics.