The dog was lying on the floor beside her bed this morning, looking forlornly at the green cushion but making no move to get in.
My husband walks by and says, "Oh Maggie, what's in your bed? Let's get that out of there for you."
And he pulls out a folded piece of paper (the directions for H's Whack-A-Mole game, but that's not crucial information for the story...face it, there's no crucial info for this story), tossing it aside so Maggie can crawl in and curl up.
I roll my eyes.
Me: Oh good grief, she's a dog.
Tim: Would you want to lay on paper?
Me: Well, no. But she's a dog. She drinks muddy water from the downspouts and licks her butt.
Apparently there's comfort, and then there's comfort.
My husband walks by and says, "Oh Maggie, what's in your bed? Let's get that out of there for you."
And he pulls out a folded piece of paper (the directions for H's Whack-A-Mole game, but that's not crucial information for the story...face it, there's no crucial info for this story), tossing it aside so Maggie can crawl in and curl up.
I roll my eyes.
Me: Oh good grief, she's a dog.
Tim: Would you want to lay on paper?
Me: Well, no. But she's a dog. She drinks muddy water from the downspouts and licks her butt.
Apparently there's comfort, and then there's comfort.
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