November 20th 2012 5:25 am
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I do not know how Dad could possible think that he is anything but loved and adored. Or simply used.

It is a well known fact that Dad does not like any Dog Parts to touch him while he sleeps on the Concrete Queen. The Concrete Queen Mattress is almost 20 years old -- it was one of the first purchases of Mom and Dad's marriage, but as the name "Concrete Queen" would suggest, the mattress is as firm as the day that Dad chose it for it's kinship to sleeping on, well, concrete. (The other first purchase was a dishwasher. Dad informed Mom prior to marriage that he did not "do dishes." This did not sit well with Mom, so in order to not remain a bachelor, Dad immediately purchased a convertible dishwasher; one that was on wheels that could later be installed into the cabinetry when the kitchen was remodeled and room was made for it.)

Anyhoodles, last night Dad was forced to suffer through dog parts touching him, but I think he must appreciate the coordination of the effort.

There was Me, Pennie, curled up at Dad's lower legs and feet.

There was Sophie curled up at Dad's bottom.

There was Mom, curled up at Dad's back and neck.

All three of us were in basically the same position, snuggled up against Dad, completely synchronized. He "should" have felt either loved, smothered, or used.