So this is Megan, she’s my oldest daughter. She prepared me for last night. As a baby, she was a screamer. She screamed until 2, 3 and 4 am every night.
Normally, I can sleep through a freight train coming through the living room, but last night…
This Barney. As a foster dog, he slept on the twin bed beside my bed every night. Apparently his family weren’t pushovers like me, because he hasn’t offered to get on the bed since his return.
My bed is a small queen, perfect for one human, one hound. And most nights, they take turns, I never sleep with the same dog. (I know, I know I’m a floozy).
Last night, Barney planted his butt in my bed, rolled over on his side and never moved muscle.
This is Flo, she doesn’t know no. If she wants it, it’s hers, if she might want it, it’s hers. Even if she doesn’t want it, it’s hers.
She’s one of our smaller dogs, but she likes the WHOLE bed and nothing less. She lays down on top of me until the weight of her body (or a flippin’ hot flash) moves me over to six inches on the edge. When it is her turn, I frequently wake up hanging on for dear life.
Last night, she decided it was her turn and she plopped down on the other side me.
At least with Barney on one side, I knew I was safe from the edge. The down side were the binding covers the two of them held down over me. Adjusting my position was going to be difficult.
Ya’ all know Flocko. He also wanted to sleep with me last night. When he draped his body over my legs that I knew beauty sleep was not in my future.
I figured one night on the couch was not going to kill me.
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