Now, normally, he sleeps on a full-sized futon mattress at the foot of the human bed, and the great Dane(who just came over and belched lovingly in my face) either sleeps with him (infrequently) or on the living room sofa. (Remember what I said about spoiled? Hey, my dog means more to me than a secondhand sofa that's extremely uncomfortable on its best day, and it makes her happy.) About the only place in the house they're not allowed, and they know it and usually respect it, is on the human type bed. Which I made yesterday, with clean sheets and blankets, and lined up all the pillows, and generally made nice and cozy and tucked in around the edges.
Last night at 10:45 I realized that my eye kept skipping off the page, so I packed up the plantation, did the last rounds, and went off to bed--to find my sleeping platform occupied by 184 pounds of sleeping English mastiff, with his head stuffed under the pillow.
He was snoring.
I had to shake him to wake him up, and by then I was laughing too hard to yell at him, because he kind of dragged himself out from under the pillows blinking blearily, like me on a workday, and was like what? what? is it burglars? is it monsters? what?
I actually think he'd forgotten that he wasn't supposed to be there, or, if not, he was managing a pretty good innocent expression from a standing start.
*g* He's nine years old, which is pretty aged for a mastiff. I suspect he thinks he's achieved the age where he gets what he wants, and us young whippersnappers had best get the hell out of his way or he'll get the AARC after us.