This past week’s winter chill finally penetrated our apartment. Today the outside temperature is already much higher, but last night our feet were cold on the floor, and we huddled in our sweaters.
I wasn’t sure how warm Fergus would be in his crate. Just this once, then, couldn’t we let him sleep where he wanted? All right; just this once.
When I rattled the bedtime bickie container, Fergus hopped into his crate. I gave him his bickie and pushed the door to without locking it. “Good night, little ones.”
I don’t know where they got the idea. Did a frustrated Cuca talk them into it? Whatever the motivation, at 06 12 this morning eight little paws thundered up the stairs, and E.g. and I were simultaneously attacked by poggle tongues. Fergus’s tail was whirling enough to power an everglades boat. Were they ever pleased with themselves! Responsible boys.