Why I Bought a Dog Bed

Priced at 39 politically-incorrect dollars at the Super Wal-Mart, where I privately confess I may sometimes be found, there are dozens in a bin, squashy and round. Designed, Yes, for Man's Best Friend, but useful for a rest in an unlikely nest in which to curl infant-style, until asked to fetch, or someone finds Baby Moses, parting bulrushes beside the lake. Among the tall grasses, a conductor tunes up masses of froglet violins, granddaddy-deep bassoons, and amphibian percussion played orchestrated only at dusk. Then, it's deep uterine bedtime lulled by concerts sublime, and as darkness drops its mantle, busy minds unwind, cares decelerating, the cradle song's abating, and sleep's a fait accompli'.