Comfort snob

In many ways, my dog is not spoiled. In one big way, though, he is.
From the time Sensi was a little puppy, we’ve made him comfortable. We taught him about blankets and pillows and soft mattress beds, couches and fleeces and the ultimate softness of a microfiber blanket. He got a bolster bed and more blankets and pillows to call his own.
Seven years later, we’ve created a comfort monster.
This is a dog who won’t sit down outside unless it’s on a lush carpet of sodded grass. A dog who wouldn’t even consider laying down on a wood or tile floor. In fact, he won’t even lay down on the carpet unless it’s in a sun spot or if he’s playing with his toys.
Even the couch has become a no-lounge spot for him unless there’s, at the very minimum, a blanket for him to curl up with.
Last night, my husband and I cuddled on the ottoman together, a blanket pulled over our legs. There was no space for Sensi between us, which is generally his favorite spot in the whole house — between his two masters, on a microfiber blanket, on the ottoman, on the couch.
Never mind that there was the whole rest of the couch open, a space that can fit at least four other grown men, nonetheless a single, 85-lb. dog. And forget that there’s a dog bed in the living room — it has no bolster or fleece covering, so it’s totally off Sensi’s radar.
So what does our little comfort snob do? He chooses to leave us, for the whole night, and walked back to the bedroom to take advantage of the open bed. And no, not his — I’m talking about our open bed.
At one point, we called him out into the living room. He came, asked if he could come up on the ottoman with us. We said no and he promptly turned around and headed back to the bedroom for the rest of the night.
I’ve created a snob.