In praise of . . .

. . . small dogs.

Okay. Normally I don't like prissy, foo-foo dogs. But last night I baby sat my sister's two dogs - one a Maltese, one a Shih Tzu. Now. They sound foo-foo, yes. However, she keeps them with a puppy cut. And the Shih Tzu is also the runt of his litter - so she named him Owen (after A Prayer for Owen Meaney). So, as usual going to bed alone, the dogs slept with me. The Maltese slept on the end, where she usually does.

And Owen spent the whole night snuggled next to me. There is something so wonderful about dogs, unmatched by cats, in their absolute, unqualified, loving affection for you. I would turn, he would adjust so he'd be in contact. I'd shift, and he'd move to make sure he was close. When my alarm went off, and I had to get up at 7 to go in for a 14 hour day (yes, on a Sunday), he licked my face and wanted to play.

But from the two of them, such sweet, gentle innocence was wonderful.

If only boys were that way.