Loki has a blankie.
We first handed it to him months ago, when we were still trying to provide him with a bed of his own. We bought him a proper dog bed, mind you, but he refused to sleep on it. Instead, he used it as a toy. He’d shake it around, knock things over and finally settle down to chew on it.
Yes, it was a large dog bed. It was not particularly light. And yes, I said he could shake it around. And toss it across the room, for that matter.
The dog bed wen to the basement.
We tried giving him an old blanket, but he didn’t pay too much attention to it, so it landed in the closet.
A few weeks ago, while I was cleaning out the closet, Loki stuck his nose in and grabbed the blanket and gave it a good shake. Then he trotted off with it. That was fine: He knows it’s his. (No, really. Loki would NEVER treat one of the other blankets lying around the house that way.)
Since then, Loki has become very attached to his blankie. He cuddles with it. He plays with it. When I sit down in the evening to watch TV with a blanket on my lap, Loki grabs his blankie and snuggles up, too.
It’s adorable, actually.
There’s just one thing: His blankie is this garish purple Dora the Explorer fleece that Daughter outgrew years ago. It’s hideous. And now it’s always underfoot.
That’s my boy.
Growls and yips