I always liked big dogs; I didn't consider any canine under 30 pounds to actually be a dog at all. My earliest childhood friends were aBboxer named Major and a Collie named Duke. This was back when Collies still had brains, though I hate to admit to being that old. I was 12 when I got my first dog of my own, a German Shorthair Retriever - I chose the biggest one of the litter, and no even then Shorthairs didn't have brains. But she was a wonderful, dopey, up-for-anything sort of dog, a perfect friend for a 12 year old "tomboy". My grandma had a Pekingnese - a spoiled, ill-tempered, snappish and snorty thing that refused to eat anything but bacon (and you better fry it just right). Our neighbors had a Peke too - the kind that will bite the hand that just fed it if the hand comes up empty. And my stepfather had one of those bug-eyed, naked, shivery little Chihauhuas, who never forgave him for bringing him into a household with a large and indeterminable human population such as ours. Somewhere along the way someone brought home a Pekingnese/Pomeranian mix. I remember those earlier Pekes and thought "Oh, Gawd". I didn't say it out loud of course. Back in those days you had to be 18 years old (or married, whichever came first) to say that sort of thing. We'd never even heard the sort of thing your average six year old says nowadays. Anyway, Peko, turned out to be a wonderful dog but I considered that a mere fluke. It didn't change my thinking. So, I grew up and had a number of fine companions in my life - Setters mostly, a Shepherd or two, a Samoyed - now there was a dumb dog! A Border Collie - a bit small - but she was only $50 and I read somewhere they were the #1 smartest dog. I had just got an English Setter pup (very sweet, but you guessed it - dumb!) When I decided one day to go watch the obedience trials out at the County Fairgrounds. And there were these two little dogs...leaping with abandon over 4" high rails, full of boundless joy and enthusiasm. "What are they?" "Papillons". "What?" "Pappy-yawns." "Oh." I had recently spent 6 months pouring over the AKC book trying to decide what my next dog should be, but of course I ignored the toy section - those aren't dogs! And I never heard of a Pappy-Yawn. I guess stranger things have happened. But not to me. I was smitten. I was lost. It was just a matter of time. And so one day I brought home my very own Papillon, My Bud. All my dogs had always slept in their own beds. New puppies cried their little hearts out in a card board box with only a ticking clock and a hot water bottle for company. But somehow Bud ended up in my bed, the very first night. My cat (cats on the other hand, always slept on my bed or wherever they chose )was none too pleased to see this usurper, and expressed her displeasure with hisses and howls. Bud burrowed his head into my armpit and pretended not to notice. And so an uneasy truce was reached. There I lay, dog to the right of me, cat to the left of me, a mountain range making the boundary between canine and feline. Occasionally Bud would lift his head to peer over at the cat, her hiss quickly sent him diving beneath the covers. He totally ignored his sweet little basket with its fleece-covered pillow, since I never spent any time in it, he didn't either. The cat claimed it for daytime snoozing and everyone was happy.