Dog Bed

Oh my bed. My bed so desperately wants to be my place of solace. Every now and then it manages that distinction, like last Saturday when I spent the day underneath the covers watching movies and playing on the internets. For the most part, however, my bed is a fairly gross place that no one wants to visit.

I originally purchased my bed to be this wonderful haven. I was so super excited to pick out the fancy bed from IKEA, one with a headboard, of course, then head down the hall to test out mattresses. I got the cutest sheet and comforter set, all Moroccan-inspired like the rest of my room décor intended to be. After many laborious attempts to put the damned thing together, and much assistance from Susanna, my cheap version of a craft-o-matic adjustable bed was finally done. And for a while, it was my sanctuary.

Then Ginger came.

I held my ground for a long time on the dog-in-bed situation, until Russell came along and guilted me into letting her sleep with us. It was over after that. Now, my bed is a pit of despair, covered in mud and hair. Gross? Yeah, I totally know. Don’t judge me.

The dogs always come first in my world. Even in my bed. I go to sleep every night, taking up less than 1/3 of my bed, with one dog on top of me, one dog in between my knees, and one dog next to my foot. My appreciation for beds in other establishments has grown exponentially, and nights that I get to stay at the Omni or Intercontinental (best beds in the world) or even when I crash with friends who snore a lot, I relish their comfy, clean, dog-free zones.

Hmm. Reminds me. I need to get the sheets in the wash.

To Crystal

As I am sitting here, about to write about the animals in my life, I have four of the most amazing four-legged creatures I have ever met, lounging around me. Maggie, my cat is curled up on the table, her own version of a throne, as she looks down upon the rest of us. My two pups, Kyoko and Penelope, the silliest, cutest, oddest little dogs you will probably ever meet are curled around my right side, excessive heat being exchanged between all of our bodies. And Ginger, possibly the sweetest dog in the world, is lying at my feet, and oop, she just got a little belly scratch action…

If you know me at all, it is not at all surprising that I share my house not only with a human roommate, but four companion animals whom I am fortunate enough to get to care for. These girls are my world. I often sit in traffic, super anxious to get home, just so that I can hug them all. Yeah, kinda lame, but whatever.

I care for my girls and give them all of my heart, most of my lap (and the rest of my body at bedtime), and as much of my time and money as I possibly can. I do it because I love them and they love me (I do not subscribe to the notion that animals do not feel emotions similar to ours. I’m not a fool-I read books). However, in all of the years that we have had family pets, including ferrets, birds, cats, dogs, hamster, guinea pigs, etc., I haven’t always been that great to them. I can blame it on the fact that I was young and didn’t really know better, but what it comes down to, in all honesty, is that I was lazy. I was lazy then and I am lazy still, but then my sloth often led to my sweet, sweet English Springer Spaniel, Crystal, not getting as much quality care from me as she deserved. I didn’t pay attention to her as much as I should have. I didn’t bring her inside when it got a little cold out like I should have. I flat out did not treat her like such a special dog deserved. I often remember her and feel tremendous guilt about that.

I can never make any of that up to her. I can never make it up to the roosters that I amusingly and ignorantly watched fight to the death in the dusty sheds of South Louisiana. I can never give the lives back to all of the animals that I ate before 1998. All I can do is remember the harm that I caused or contributed to and do my very best to make sure that I never make those mistakes again.

I wish I had a picture of Crystal to put here. I think I have an actual photo somewhere, but no scanner. Instead you get pics of my girls now.


The little ones aren't actually demons, they just appear that way in this picture.


My pretty, pretty princess