His golden retriever jumps up on the bed with me, happily wagging his tail.
Earlier in the kitchen, the cream colored pup held my hand in his mouth, just applying enough pressure so I know he's got me, but not biting down hard.
"Is he usually allowed on the bed?" I ask because his other dog, who died years ago, wasn't even wanted in the house at all.
"No, he only gets up there when the kids are around," he replies. Then he directs the dog, "Get down from there." He repeats himself. The dog just pants and wags, and finally as if it was his idea all along, he leaps off the bed and runs to Morpheus, who stands in the doorway.
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