Rosey the Dog

I like to get up at 8:15 in the morning.

On a slightly related note, if I owned a dog, I'd go to one of those expensive specialty catalog stores and buy him a bed.  I'd put the dog's bed next to my bed and I'd treat every time he wanted to come up and sleep on my bed as a teaching opportunity.  And soon he'd be happy sleeping in his own bed.

This one from Orvis -- a Tempur-Pedic -- only costs $425!

Anyway, I don't own a dog.  I asked my landlords if I could get one but they refuse to answer.  But sometimes my daughter's dog Chloe comes for a visit.  And over the last few days, Rosey the dog has been hanging out with me.  My next door neighbors were babysitting Rosey for a friend, then had a scheduling conflict and I've taken her through tonight.  Both, it should be noted, have grown up sleeping in the same bed with the humans.  And who am I to blow against the wind?

Which has been pretty nice, really.  13-year old dachshound.  Couldn't be more mellow.  Check this out:  Unlike Chloe, who is a disaster in the sack, you pick up little Rosey, put her down on the exact spot on the bed that you want her to sleep, and she just goes to sleep.  The next morning she's in exactly the same spot.  This morning I stretched it to 8:30 and she couldn't have cared less.

Chloe?  She likes to take a piss around 6:45.  And isn't shy about licking your face to tell you so.  Try sleeping through that.

Rosey?  I get up, throw on some clothes, take her downstairs and open the back door.  She goes out the door, turns left, trots across the porch, down the stairs, loops back around, takes a piss in the yard, comes back onto the porch via the other set of stairs and heads inside, where we both grab a bite, download The Times, and settle in.

Sweet.  I'm gonna miss her.