When Squeak, our Papillon and little troublemaker, was a puppy, I let her sleep on top of my bed. In the winter months the unheated back bedroom gets pretty chilly, so she soon learned how to squirm under the covers, between the flannel sheets and snuggle up against my back.
Then when summer arrived and the house warmed up at night, she began sleeping in the living room with Taz, her Lhasa Apso-Pomeranian cohort, or on top of Carol's bed. She usually would join Taz when he comes in to wake me up at four o'clock every morning. It looked like she was finally growing up.
Now that cold nights have returned and Carol has put the flannel sheets back on , around midnight Squeak comes in and jumps up on the bed. I reach out to pet her and pat a spot where she obediently curls up and lies down, but when I wake up again she's under the covers, sometimes with her head on the pillow right beside me.
I've been accused of spoiling our dogs and I guess that's true, but somehow I just haven't had the heart to deny them their comfort...Until this morning, when a tickling on my head made me look in my bedroom mirror. There in the reflection of my thinning hair was a big, fat flea scrambling for cover. He was having a hard time finding a place to hide, and I caught him between my thumb and forefinger as he raced around. I squashed as hard as I could for a good half a minute but when I opened my fingers to hopefully see his smashed carcass, he made a mighty leap and disappeared down into the carpet.
Tonight my bedroom is off limits to all puppy dogs.
And I mean it.
I'm serious, now.
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