Sweet Murphy joined me when he was five and I was in my 20s, living alone for the first time. Murphy the schnauzer was my constant companion. My old man. But from the start we had a little battle over who was in charge of the house. He had me whipped.  In fact he used to let me know when he wasn’t happy by grunting. Little grunts expressing his disappointment out of that little grey mustached face.  Murphy gave literal meaning to king of the hill.  The first time this happened, I was by my dining table, and I bent down to pick up a book from the floor. Next thing I knew, Murphy was standing on my back! He had jumped on the chair, from the chair to my back, and in no time he jumped from my back to the table. And there he was. King of the hill. Over the years, this behavior continued. He didn’t use my back as a jumping point again, but made a habit of jumping onto the chair and then to the table. But… once on the table, he was scared to jump down again. It was pretty funny actually. A king needing to be rescued from his castle.  The frozen king. My little statue.  Grunting , begging for help. And so I rescued him. Just like he rescued me those years before.