You think dogs don’t remember things, but we do. We remember your scent and the sound of your voice, the things you eat and the things you feed us, the bed as it’s made.
I remember when you first took me home, and I liked the way it smelled, and I liked the way you said “We’re home,” and I liked the way you picked me up. And when it got dark, you said it was bedtime.
Mom said, “To the crate with her!” and Dad said, “Never!” and Mom said, “We’ve got to at least try.”
I remember that. And I remember the big crate in the corner of the living room and how you shut the door, and how I didn’t like that, and I howled and howled.
Had I known that the other option was the bed–but that it would take months for you to learn words like Parachute–well, I might have stayed in the crate ‘til then.
But Dad came and kneeled on the hardwood, and he rubbed my head with two fingers wriggling between the bars. He said, “Nope! She’s goin’ to the bed!” so I slept in the bed.
I slept in the bed, and you tucked me in. And you tucked me in, and it felt… well, it didn’t feel great.
That was that, and I left the bed.
I didn’t go to the crate, but there was no way I was staying in the bed.
Lifetimes went by and I learned important words like “Breakfast” and “Walk” and “Park” and “Stay.” I did my part. I learned. In that time, you didn’t learn anything more important than Parachute.
Sure, you learned that I like the cats a little more than they like me, that I get a little crazy when dogs at daycare throw up, and that I will take any and everything off the counter if it smells good.
I was committed to the floor (except when the floor gets too cold or I get tired of chewing the rug). I wanted to love the floor because it wasn’t the bed.
Because Dad, you snore a lot. And Mom, you’re a hugger.
Worse than that?
The sheets that were pilling, and the top sheet that always got tangled at the foot of the bed, and the pillowcases with all that excess fabric hanging off the side.
It wasn’t a good look, and I preferred the floor. But then you learned the words “Parachute” and “Sateen” and “Venice Bedding Set.”
You discovered the feeling of burrowing into a warm duvet comforter and resting on sheets that were sublimely soft and smooth.
We learned what a back envelope closure was and how it made the pillowcases look all nice and tidy and kept the pillow inside supported.
And you forgot the words “top sheet” and you learned to make the bed—oh, I remember!
It was a memorable day, and the bed has never looked so inviting.
Dad said something stupid about how Parachute bedding has him “California Dreaming,” and Mom said, “Sure, honey. Whatever you say," and I never know what’s going on with them, but everything about the bed is lighter and smoother and softer.
So I’m staying. I’m back in the bed.
Stay in the Bed for Good and Forever & Shop Parachute's Sateen Venice Set Right Here.