People who have met Bailey know that she is not a dog. She’s people. People who don’t know B don’t understand this.
Last night, she must have had a nightmare. It’s the only way I can explain the howling and carpet scratching. And of course Mr.-I-can-sleep-under-an-air-field didn’t rouse.
I had to pee anyway and I hear her jump on the bed. (She normally sleeps at the end of the bed unless it’s hot.)
She’s laying on my side of the bed, on my pillow.
I crawl up onto the bed.
“You have a nightmare?” I ask her and she instantly tries to burrow her head into my tummy.
“Can I get back under the covers? You can lay with me then.”
And she gets up and stands between me and the wall.
I snuggle in the covers and tap my chest to let her know she can lay down.
She lays on me so that her bottom rib bone is digging into my hip bone. One arm on each side of my head, over my shoulders. She lays her head down on the right side of my head and while I pet her, she starts purring.
I pet her for a little bit then I just hold her and her breathing becomes less frenzied.
Bailey sighs deeply and slides off to my side and makes a puppy ball so I can hug all of her at one.
I must have fallen asleep because I wake up with her laying across my hips, purrring.
Petting her again, I tell her “It’s okay, it’s a bad dream, everyone has them and you’re okay now. love you.” and I scruff her ears. She licks my hand, gets up , goes to the end of the bed so she’s laying right next to my leg and she starts snoring.
Now, you tell me that dogs aren’t people.