Seamus retires every night with J. On his bed. With his head on the pillow. J makes a big production of removing Seamus' offensive electronic collar, and fluffs up a pillow for him. At around 10 this morning, I went into J's room to retrieve the dog so he wouldn't pee on the carpet. Both were soundly sleeping on their backs, Seamus' feet straight in the air. I snapped Seamus' collar on him and sent him outside. About 20 minutes later, J came downstairs, but before even saying hello to me, the person that gives him food, clean laundry, and unconditional love, he spends 10 minutes petting the dog and scratching his belly. Because 14 hours of breathing in dog breath isn't enough.

"What about greeting your mother, J?"

"Oh, yeah. Good morning. You know, I think I could use a bigger bed. And Seamus kind of steals the covers, so I should probably get some more blankets. What's for breakfast?"