I am this many sleeps away from becoming a crazy cat lady.
I love my dogs. I love those little turd-eating, carpet-scooting, garbage-sniffing, spazz-barkin', toy-mangling, dustball-snorting, dumpster-breathed rats. Yet, they are still dogs. As hard as it is to imagine, they are somewhere in the twisted, dwarfy recesses of their DNA, related to wolves.
Wolves. Tough. Robust. Hardy. Wolves that hunt their own prey, sometimes going days without eating. Wolves, that curl themselves up on cold, hard ground to sleep. Wolves that push on through the elements: snow, rain, wind whipping all around them.
And somewhere along the way, I end up living with ratdawgs. Who have maybe 0.0000001 % wolf left in them. I think that's the part that makes Mr. Farnsworth bark and jump at the TV when there's an animal on it. Prey drive, see?
Anyway. I take all the blame for turning them into wusses. Here's a little shameful secret I am hesistant to admit:
I THROW THEIR BLANKETS IN THE DRYER BEFORE BED!
SHUT UP!! I KNOW! I KNOW!! But seriously, you guys - they love it. They do. They love being warm (see: lapdogs. eg. If my lap isn't warm enough, Reggie moves to Corn's lap and vice versa). Flea waits in front of the laundry room. She knows the sound of the dryer now. When the blankets come out, she races to the crate and along the way, Reggie joins us. We're a little happy parade, marching to the bedroom! And I can BARELY get the blankets in before they're trying to climb in and under them. Then, they do not come out til morning.
Now, tell me. If you KNEW your dog loved this - could you deny them!? Even though it made you look like the BIGGEST SISSY IN THE WORLD!?
Me equals dumbass.
*I also ocassionally heat up a Magic Bag for Flea to lie on. She loves that too. Reggie just tries to eat it.