I have my own blanket. Actually two.
A small one I carry around with me, and a bigger one that I got first and used to carry around, but now I just take that one with me when I go to Barkfield to stay overnight.
Mom gave me a blanket of my own because when I first got here I chewed on everything, including a throw blanket dad has on the bed. I’d steal it, hide under the bed and chew on it.
Mom found my big one at Petsmart and got it for me. I loved it from the start, and while I like to chew on them, I never ruined it.
It’s kind of big, and I used to step on it and stumble when going up and down the stairs dragging it, using my mouth. Dad found a smaller one, and now I carry it around. All the time. I also snuggle with it, and chew gently on it, but I’ve never torn it up. It’s my special.
This morning, I was all wound up (I wake up pretty frisky everyday) and decided it would be a good day to remember that Dad’s blanket is still on the bed. You’d think I’d know that since I sleep on the bed every night, and last night I slept on top of that very blanket, but whatever. I pulled that blanket down and chewed on it, despite both mom & dad telling me to drop it. Over and over.
Finally, dad grabbed MY blanket and gave it to me to distract me. I cuddled it and fell asleep. Life is good.
The Brown Dog of Doom 