Puppy love

I'm not sure how it happened, but somehow I got the rep for being a dog-hater. Me! a hater!

This, just because I don't cuddle up in bed with a couple of hundred-pound canines. Under the covers. Pushing me off. On my pillow. Yech.

Now, don't get me wrong. I've walked my dogs (yes, plural) over the years. It's just that taking them with me sometimes causes more trouble when we confront other pups on their territory. I like my walks to be more serene. Quiet -- that's what I like.

I admit that when I come home and say hi to whomever is present, I don't usually notice that my Australian shepherd mix-mutt is desperate for my attention. To her credit, Freckles persists in tap-dancing before me, click-clacking on the Pergo, non-stop, until I have no choice but to show her the love.

Lately, I've indulged her a little more quickly than usual. Rubbing her ears, which, if she's just come in from outdoors, are frosty and need warming. Tempting her with nose-to-almost-nose contact... no licking! Scratching that place in the middle of her rump that's hard to reach.

She really is sweet. Never messes in the house. Always obeys. Even eats those barbecue chips Fred throws her way, even though it doesn't look like she likes them.

Heck, she's not so bad. And if I'd keep up my pet-owner responsibility of brushing her with the special $40 hair remover once in a while, I wouldn't even have that much to complain about. And it's good for my blood pressure.

But I draw the line at my bed. Sorry.