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Crazy D has some fences to mend now that he’s back in residence. Or until he isn’t again (which, I understand, is happening by this afternoon). He’s barely here enough to keep his bed warm and his sheets dirty. We solved both of those issues last night.

The neighbors (and dear friends) invited us over for a farewell dinner before they leave for the summer in the States. You may remember them as the ‘parents’ of Jewel, our well-trained, well-behaved cross-the-street Vizsla hound. She stays with us when they travel by air and can’t take her. But, since they are driving and spending some vacation time at the beach, she needn’t tremble with anxiety this time when the suitcases appear by the door.

She was the official welcoming committee, greeting us at their door with a tail wag and a ‘lean’. It’s her way of telling someone she likes them. Only trouble is, when her 100- plus pound body leans against my 90- pound one, I tilt and must grab something to stay upright. She means well.

But something was not right. Her nose seemed slightly out of joint with regards to Crazy D. She was just the slightest bit stand offish, aloof even. And then it struck me: she’s still hurt that, when she last came to stay with us for a week, Crazy D was off on his world tour. He had promised her a sleepover with him in his ‘Big Boy Bed’, the king-sized, teak framed sleigh bed that IS his room. She matches the bed with her orangey brown fur and when she stretches diagonally across the bed, effectively preventing anyone beneath her from moving, she looks completely in charge. Only because she is.

She entered our house, anticipating, no doubt, many cozy evenings of snuggles, only to have her hopes cruelly dashed when she saw Crazy D was nowhere to be found. She was offered the bed ‘as is’, with no Crazy D, just his comforter, but it would not do. She needed, like most women, to be cuddled. She spent the entire week depressed, thinking she’d been scorned, thrown by the wayside. She may have wondered what heinous sin she committed to be treated in such a callous, unfeeling way. Maybe Crazy D had someone else? Maybe another hot female was warming his bed?

“I think you’d better take Jewel back to your place tonight,” the dad said as we munched our burgers. “I don’t think  she can go a whole 6 weeks without a goodbye sleepover!”

Jewel glared at Crazy D. He saw her eyes boring into him and gave the correct response:”Why, sure. Jewel, would you like to sleep with me tonight?” Not usually the sort of question that gets asked at the dinner table (especially when there are young children around), but we let it slide.

Of course I couldn’t resist commenting: “Just make sure she doesn’t go loping back across the street in the morning with a negligee draped on her head. The neighbors would wonder…”

Everyone laughed. Except Jewel. She was not about to have her affection for Crazy D trivialized in such a flippant manner.

And so, after dinner, we traipsed across the street with Jewel on her leash. She bolted up the stairs and went right to Crazy D’s room. They both, by all accounts, had a lovely night and a sound sleep. Crazy D has redeemed himself and can go about his business for the summer.

“Okay,” Gill said when I explained the sleepover to her, “Let me get this straight. The Pig sleeps with L’il Sis on her bed; Jewel sleeps with Crazy D in his, who or what sleeps in your bed, Ma? Or, more to the point, the bed I am going to be inhabiting when I come for two weeks? I’d like to know any relevant sleepover arrangements before I find myself in bed with an orangutan or other wild creature. I have to say, Ma, I think your standards have slipped …”

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