Joan Field Oct. 24, 2001 The Dogs Ah, the dogs. There are three of them now sharing my home, my bed. When I got the first Yorkie he cuddled so cutely, and he was going to stay small, so how could I let him sleep all alone on the floor? Especially on a winter's night. Then I got the second Yorkie. The second one was supposed to be a friend for the first one and also small. You can't let one sleep on the bed and ban the other. Why, they're hardly noticeable. Then I got the third one--not a Yorkie. Much bigger. He's bigger just because I wanted something with a louder, more intimidating bark. And he is an armful, just as the bark is bigger. . . Good thing the would-be burglar doesn't see me carry him in to the vet too scared to walk on his own. So now with the three sharing my bed, it's not hardly noticeable anymore. I can't walk them very often. Being somewhat confined to the house is why I needed them. To keep me company. I need a lot of company. So, not being able to walk them often, I leave the door to the deck open. And I give them extra treats. The deck is enclosed so they can't leave it, but they can see the sky and the squirrels and the birds. Good reasons to bark. Good reasons to run from one side of the deck to the other the better to see. And going out on the deck one can find all sorts of interesting things like half mushy crab apples and acorns dried or still green and sometimes attached to small branches with a half-dozen leaves. And when it's fall and everything has fallen onto the deck--leaves of every crispness and color--those fuzzy feet catch them all and track them in. And what they don't track, they carry in via tooth. Yes. They sure bring the outside in. And I have to use the mini-vac three times a day or pretend I'm on a camp-out. No, I can't walk them very often, so this way they can enjoy the changes of the season and their fellow creatures. On those days when I absolutely can't walk them because I can hardly walk myself, I sit in bed with a newspaper, a book, a cross-word puzzle and some coffee dozing off and on to whatever the local channel airs, while they dash in from outside and carry those leaves and acorns right up on top of the covers like they're bringing treats to me. Even the biggest of the three will climb into my lap as if he could still fit there and snuggle and give a lick then dash down and out for another twig to chew or another treat for Mom. And right there in my lap is my very own walk in the great outdoors. When evening falls and the pillow calls, they snuggle right in. Sometimes I'm keeping them up with a late TV show and sometimes they feel like Tug-o-War all over the top of a sleepy me. During the night, if I wake up and need to get up, it's "Careful, where's Raggi (Ragamuffin). Don't squash Cinny (Cinnamon Bun). Oh, there's Beau." When I return to bed, they wiggle up against my back or thigh again. I can feel their warmth. I'm loved. I'm the Mommy. When the sun rises, they lick my face awake. I cannot get out of bed until I tickle their tummies and scratch their ears and fluff the tops of their heads. It's bounces and kisses way before coffee. And so I smile way before coffee. I have to. No choice. Ah, yes, they sure do bring what's on the inside out.