There Once Was a Lady with Three Dogs and One White Berber Rug

dogs and white rugs

Once upon a time, my parents told me I was smart. Little did I know they were liars.

I love interior design, as mentioned in this post about not being glamorous while sweating profusely. This little side passion hit me while I was living on a sailboat, about the time Pinterest became a thing. Suddenly at 28-years-old, I realized I was — in fact — a girl. A shocking revelation after spending my life as a nerdy tomboy.

Domesticity. I love(d) it.

Since moving back to land, I’ve embraced all things cozy, comfortable and chic. The highlight of my day is a new Pottery Barn catalog. I know the difference between post-modern, eclectic, French country and industrial farmhouse. Were I to carve a spirit animal totem, Joanna Gaines would sit at the tippy-top. My favorite part of fall is blankets, candles and a house that smells of Christmas.

A basic bitch be I.

But three adorable, fluffy dogs own me; they have a combined hair output of four quadrillion tons. If you think I’m exaggerating, come and brush them. I dare you.


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But I digress. We’re here to discuss how someone who’s on their third white rug is dumber than an empty shoebox you keep for no reason at all. Yes, a third white rug. Which begs the question: at what point does a learning curve become a learning flat? We’ll come back to this.

Though I don’t want to get too bogged down on white rugs one and two, you may be curious as to what happened to white rugs one and two. More importantly, why I didn’t learn from white rugs one and two. Aside from my woefully underdeveloped frontal lobe.

A brief historical recounting may be in order. If you’re uninterested because who the heck cares about white rugs, please skip to part three White Berber Rugs: Where All Dogs Leave Their Very Best. Look it how considerate I am, caring about your precious reading time. That’s personal growth.

If you are curious about the first two white rugs, please head to part two. My Big White Rugs: A History of Personal Stupidity.

By Courtney

Courtney Kirchoff is a published novelist, graphic designer, dog and horse lover, and lots of other (hopefully good) things. She lives in the greater Puget Sound area in Washington State with her lovable shelties, Riley and Margo.