It's all in the bed

When they opened the box and pulled out my bed, I knew I'd landed in the right house.

It was difficult at first, being pulled away from my siblings, from all the other dogs of my birth home. It was difficult riding in a car for hundreds of miles and then landing not here, not at my new home, but at a different home where, thankfully there were other dogs to distract me and a large cat as well.

It was difficult getting back into the car and riding hundreds of miles more, the warm sun lulling me to sleep. But when we walked into my new home and opened the large box delivered that day on the front step, my heart leapt.

Actually, I leapt. The bed was soft, cushy, and best of all it moved, like a boat on a river. It rocked from side to side every time I moved. It was difficult to get my bearings. I was born in the high desert and now I was thrust onto the ocean waves of my new bed.

Brave, confident and willing I persevered and steadied my newly found sea legs by humping the soft curve of the stern. And then I growled, for effect, and flopped in a panting heap into the bottom of the fuzzy fleeced boat.

It's all in the bed, I say, it's all in the bed.