The Four Seasons of Pip

Fall began officially last week, when I woke up and couldn't move my legs.

Pip had added her thermal mass to the dogpile on the bed.

She spends her nights all summer like this:

Summer

She only occasionally gets stuck, but it's funny every single time. Yes, I know the carpet is Bordello Red. It came with the house.

We know it's fall when she switches to:

Fall

Since her two children occupy bed space year-round, this just adds to the family project of Gullivering the humans. Eventually we will develop blood clots from the immobility, die in our bed, and be eaten by our own dogs.

But wait, there's more. We know that winter has arrived when this happens:

Winter

On one hand, it's nice and warm, like a hairy hot water bottle, and she's not pinning the eiderdown.

On the other hand, she frequently begins asphyxiating, requiring me to wake up, grab her by the collar, and drag her head to the surface.

And she farts in bed.

So it's a general relief when the days start to get longer, the robins reappear, and Pip bursts forth from her hibernation:

Spring

Pip learned this important season-defining function from our first Dogmanac, who was her mentor and hero. Lilly would spend her summers in the bathtub, spring and fall on the bedroom rug, and winter on the foot of the bed.