The bed hog/dog

I am back, happy to report, in the connubial bed after three weeks of camping out on the futon in our TV room. I'm not sure who's happier with the arrangement -- the WPS and me. . . OR Ben, our dog.

While I was in the more awkward stages of post-foot surgery (read, foot elevated about 3 feet over my head), Ben was a loyal companion. He slept with me almost every night, but not without looking quizzically after the WPS as he toddled off to bed in the guest room next door. I do know Ben would quietly slip off the bed at least once or twice at night to check on the WPS' breathing, and at least two nights, he hopped up on the WPS' bed and hunkered down for the duration, but not before giving me a sheepishly apologetic glance.

Like any good herding dog, Ben does not like it when "the flock" is separated.

So, when the WPS and I clambered into bed TOGETHER for the first time in weeks, Ben visibly brightened. And promptly launched himself into the "sweet spot" between our feet. He curled up contentedly, tail feathered over nose, closed his eyes, sighed and drifted off to sleep. Or so we thought.

We realize now he was mulling over the next steps in his diabolical plan to TAKE OVER THE BED.

Actually, he's not diabolical. I said that for dramatic effect.

But Ben has taken over the bed. We think it's because he loves us.

After weeks of living in bedrooms divided, Ben seems to have developed an insatiable need for "touch." And, at night, in bed, this means stretching across our bed horizontally so head and paws are draped over my feet with rump and hind legs pressed against the WPS. Or vice versa. Several times a night. Ben is, if anything, an equal-opportunity pup.

The WPS and I agree. It's like sleeping on ledge. With sound effects.

Nevertheless, we can't, won't, begrudge Ben his comfort. He's been a patient dog the last few weeks. We know the sleeping arrangements will change in a month or so when the summer heat sets in. And there's something comforting about reaching out in the dark, ruffling Ben's warm fur once or twice and feeling him burrow back in acknowledgement.

I guess we need a little "touch" too.

Postscript: I tried to grab a photo of what this sleeping arrangement currently looks like, but there was something not quite right about a flash going off in our bedroom at 11 o'clock at night. Some things are just best left to the imagination.