Room for 3.

The Sunday after Thanksgiving last year my mom and I packed up the car and headed East to “God’s Country” as my step-dad calls it. The rest of us call it Ohio. Ohio was the current home of my sweet, little 5lb Wheaten Terrier who we excitedly scooped up and drove back home. At that point I was certain about a couple of things. One was that we would work tirelessly at successfully training this dog to be perfectly behaved and obedient. He would know several unique, “show-and-tell” type tricks and he would listen to everything Scott and I told him without question. The other thing I was certain of was that this dog, under no circumstances, would ever sleep in our bed.

He knows “come.” He stays when there’s a treat involved. And sit = plop all the way down on the floor with a loud thud.

And, as I sit here typing in bed, I am trying to straighten out my legs but the 35lb puppy sprawled out at the end of the bed is creating quite the road block. We started out great. He slept like a baby (literally waking up once or twice a night to go outside) in his little blue kennel on the top of a night stand for the first few weeks.  When he grew we moved him into a bigger kennel that sat on the floor next to our bed. Then those puppy dog eyes started getting brighter and we’d let him out so he could jump on our bed when we got up in the morning. Eventually, I just figured it couldn’t hurt to leave his kennel door open just to see what happens. Let him explore a little, see where he ended up. Turns out he loves the rug in front of our shower. And in the summer he loves the vent on our bathroom floor. But mostly, he loves our bed.

Then the kennel got moved to the basement – it really was an eye sore in the bedroom. And now we make room for 3. It’s ridiculous really and I am fully aware of this. My husband gets to bed first and, without fail, Newport is laying on my side with his head on my pillow every night when I come to bed. And once he hits the bed at night he is completely worthless. Like he forgets how to move every muscle in his body. No amount of nudging or kicking or pushing phases him. I have to lean over and pick up 35 lifeless pounds and plop them at the end of the bed. Then I get in and put everything I have into pulling on the covers so I get enough to reach over my shoulders. Every night it’s the same routine:

Me: Ugh, Newpooooort (in a very whiny tone)

Scott: Good boy Newp, lay on mom’s side.

(He jumps down to go get a drink of water)

Me & Scott: Yes! Yes! Quick, claim your space! Ahhhh freedom!

I mean, really? A few nights ago I was laying on my side, facing the middle of the bed and Newport jumped up and laid right behind me. He must have had 6 inches tops that he maneuvered into and then he laid his adorable, little head with those precious, big puppy dog eyes on my shoulder and you know what I did? I moved over. I MOVED OVER. For my dog. I rearranged so my dog, who was never going to sleep in my bed, could have more space.

Before you get a puppy you sneer at people (at least I did) who are so head-over-heels in love with their dogs that they treat them as an equal part of the family. You think there’s just no way you’d ever be one of those people who let their dog up on the couch, give them scraps off their dinner plate and buy economy sized bags of rawhides just to watch their dog’s eyes light up. Then you get one of your own and, before you know it, you’ve got a partner on your lap during all  of your favorite TV shows, you never go anywhere without a passenger in your car (usually with his head out the window) and, at night when you go to bed, you’re making room for 3.