What can you say about a dog that channels a well-known character from an old movie? Not a beloved canine like Old Yeller, Lassie or Rin Tin Tin, mind you, but the spurned woman played by actress Glenn Close in the 1987 movie "Fatal Attraction." Specifically, the scene where Close utters six simple but blood-chilling words to her spooked ex-lover, played by Michael Douglas:

"I'm not going to be ignored!" Could my greyhound Olivia speak, those would have been her exact words when she recently caught me trying to take a nap.

Really? Her cocked head motioned incredulously. Now? When the sun is shining and you're home with nothing to do but pay attention to me? You want to take a nap?

But this unexpected downtime was a sweet respite in an otherwise busy weekend. Nestled in my overstuffed recliner bathed in a beam of sunlight, I was deep into the summer must-read, "The Art of Fielding" by Chad Harbach, when suddenly the temptation to catch 40 winks was too much. It was blissfully silent. I had nowhere to go. Nothing urgent to do. It was a holiday weekend, my chores were done and my phone was turned off. It was oh, so perfect.

I closed my eyes.

Woof. Woooof. I opened one eye. Olivia was standing in front of me, her needle nose just inches from my face. I patted her head and returned to my nap.

Woof. Woooof.

I ignored her. She went away. Whew.

And came back - with a toy, her new stuffed squeaky shark. She flipped it in the air a few times, ran circles around it, pounced on it and then flipped it again. I peeked through one cracked open eye, not wanting to relinquish my nap, but amused by her playful persistence. Then she dropped the shark in my lap. The message was clear: I'll share my toy if you'll play with me. So what are you waiting for? Let's play!

"Just 15 minutes," I begged, tossing the shark back. "That's all I ask." Wrong answer.

Woof. Woooof. She did the Downward Dog yoga position, skinny tail slicing through the air like a bullwhip. I paid no attention. She approached me again, wet nose nudging my cheek. I kept my eyes closed, although by now I was beginning to suspect that a nap might not be in the cards.

Then silence. Blessed silence. Olivia had given up.

Almost immediately, I dozed off, dreaming of - don't ask me why - that elderly woman with the trademark black-rimmed glasses from the Old Navy commercials in the late '90s. Where that came from, I have no idea. Not that I had much time to dwell on it because Olivia was back and trying to climb into my lap. Considering that she's a 70-pound greyhound, this was an action that didn't go unnoticed. I gasped and my eyes flew open as she attempted to finagle her hefty upper torso onto my lap. Mission accomplished, she then snuggled her head against my chest. I sighed and wrapped my arms around her, drawing her lithe body closer and kissing her sweet, happy face.

Like the spurned lover in "Fatal Attraction," Olivia would not be ignored. But unlike that creepy character, my girl deserves my undivided love and attention.

Besides, naps are overrated anyway. Or so I've heard.