Fighting a Pit Bull

Mrs. Wigglebottom and I are having a enormous fight. I am losing. I want to lay on the couch under my half-finished afghan and sleep while Detroit loses to Cincinnati. She wants to lay on the couch under my half-finished afghan and sleep while Detroit loses to Cincinnati. I don't know why we can't reach a compromise, since it seems we have similar plans, but every time I get up to go to the bathroom or throw some more dishes into the dishwasher, she's sprawling all over the couch like it barely has room for her, let alone her and me. And if I throw her onto the floor, she's all like "I have to poop, right now. Take me out so I can poop." which I do, because I'm a good dog owner, but really she just wants to sniff around the side yard and see if anyone else has been there recently. I'm about to stuff a bone full of peanut butter and dog treats, just to lure her off the couch. It's not fair, but I'm exhausted and I need the couch.