A dog is in my bed

I didn't really grow up with my own pet. Once upon a time we had a cat, but she lived outdoors. Years later we ended up adopting a stray dog, but he too lived outdoors. Most of the people we knew that had animals had them outdoors. The animals weren't tethered. They ran free pooping and peeing where they felt comfortable and the neighbors fed them with leftover dinner scraps. For my brother and I it was the best of both worlds; we enjoyed animals without the worry and responsibility of their daily care.

My mother could not stand the thought of animals in the same place where people resided. That thought alone would cause her to shudder. The smell! The noise! The utter chaos! I blame her obsession for my having to always immediately wash my hands after petting a dog, something I used to do religiously after entering adulthood. No way was I going to have an animal living in my home.

Of course, that changed as soon as we got Elliot. My mother was horrified.

Mom: "You let him on the furniture? You let him on your bed?"

I've been very honest about those first months with Elliot. It took forever for me to get over the same feelings she had about having a dog in the house, but gradually all of that left. Hell, even the large chunks of Elliot's fur wafting across my floors like tumbleweeds doesn't bother me. I am now an animal person, although I'm not into the jumping up on people or the licking, neither of which my dog does.

Dog sitting the puggle has brought about even more changes, the main one being that she is a cuddler. My dog is not the cuddly type. He loves us, especially my husband, but while he enjoys us petting him at times it is only done on his time and on his request. Otherwise, leave him alone and find something better to do with your hands. He does not sleep with us, although he does join me for naps. Jazzy, the puggle is the opposite. She loves sitting next to us. She loves attention. She loves being loved, and she loves me best. But the biggest change for us is the sleeping at night in our bed.

This dog sleeps with its owners under the covers. I could hardly believe that when I was told, but it is true. The first time we allowed her on to our bed, after some concern the first night about her puncturing our water bed, she immediately planted herself  between us at our heads, curled into a ball, and went to sleep. Approximately, one hour later I woke up to find her standing by my head, and having been warned, I lifted the covers and she immediately went under them to find a space up against my leg. It's like having a little mole. You can barely see her under the covers, but due to her excessive snoring you know she is there.

For four nights I have slept with this dog, and I have not batted an eye. I love having her little body tucked against me, her snores vying for attention against Tom's snores. It is sort of like having my children in bed with me. Sometimes I wake up to find myself hanging precariously close to the side of the bed. Sometimes she paws me in the back. Sometimes I have to shove her little body over to make room for myself. In the morning when she wakes she crawls out from under the covers and licks me, and while I'm not keen on that one, I do enjoy that she stretches out and takes some time waking just like I do. The fact that I am not batting an eye at the thought of dog hair under my covers is so foreign to me that I wonder if I've lost my mind, but I shrug and tell myself come Wednesday I will strip the bed and wash the sheets.

If my mother were in a grave instead of in ashes on my china cabinet, she would be rolling over in it every night that dog climbs into bed with me.