I go to the feed store before the weather gets really cold to buy two polar fleece doggie beds filled with aromatic cedar so Lila and Red Dawg can be warm. Then I have 9-year-old C. crawl into the deep dark recesses of the insulated doghouse that Dennis built and place both beds inside. Not just tossing them in there or anything, you know, but building a snug puppy nest. Now these are puppies, mind you, who have a bigger collection of bones, chewy toys, rope pulls, and fluffy stuffed squeaky animals then any puppy really should ever own. And, these are not solely outside dogs. They spend a good part of their time in the house with our family. They dine on canned dog food from Trader Joe’s first thing in the morning. And they each have a snug little bed in the master bedroom where they spend each and every night.

I'm still picking the shreds of snuggly warm polar fleece up from where they have scattered what’s left of their new beds around the yard, having tore them to pieces with their saber-tooth canines during yet another joyous romp of sheer puppy delight.

Heathens.