You Can't Fight City Hall

Here's Pippin in "his" chair. Actually, A chose it for himself, with visions of putting his slippered feet up after a hard day of work. Then Pippin coopted it. For several years, A refused to call it Pip's Chair (as in, "go to your chair, boy!"). He insisted, misguidedly, that it was still his own. Then, two nights ago, I heard A utter the fateful words. It seems that you can't fight city hall indefinitely. City hall will win. And a dog cannot be swayed from the dogged pursuit of abject comfort. After all these years, A has finally admitted defeat. Pip won't crow over his victory, however. In his generous, doggy way, it's enough for him that he snooze the hours away undisturbed by territory battles.