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Joanne Palmer

Joanne Palmer's Life in the 'Boat column appears Wednesdays in the Steamboat Today. E-mail her atjpalmer@springsips.com

Insanity is doing the same thing twice and expecting a different result.

Unless you're my dog.

My dog and I are engaged in a battle for my bed.

I love my bed, I truly do. I spent, as my mother says, "good money" for it. It's a queen bed and it's really, really comfortable. I have a feather bed on top of the mattress and a down comforter on top of the sheets. When I get into bed I'm the main ingredient inside a poofy feather sandwich. I'm snuggled between my poofy comforter, poofy feather bed and poofy pillows. I have lots and lots of pillows - all full of feathers - and really squishy. I get right in the middle of my bed, plump and fluff up my pillows, wedge them around my aches and pains until everything feels just right. Then I fall into a blissful sleep.

I am a poofy princess.

I have never allowed a dog on my bed. My last dog never wanted to get on the bed. He was a furry 60-lb. beast. The bed was too hot for him. He was happier on his monogrammed bed from L.L. Bean.

This dog, a female bearded collie, not only likes to sleep on my bed, she feels it is her birthright. She considers herself queen of the house and as such, she is required to rule from her throne, my bed. She is an excellent jumper. The breeder I got her from told me she had no trouble scaling the six-foot fence that surrounded her property. Since I do not have a fenced yard, I did not consider this to be a problem. I forgot about the bed.

The dog arrived with the name of Kitty. I changed it to Kismet which morphed into Kizzy. I should have named her Miss Stubborn with a middle name of Tenacious.

Our daily routine goes something like this. I drive my son to school. Kizzy rides along. As soon as we arrive back home, she bolts for my bed. I turn on the computer and remove her from my bed. I go downstairs to refill my coffee cup. Kizzy jumps up on my bed. I pick her up and put her on the floor. Kizzy waits until I sit down at my desk. Boing! She's back on my bed. She stretches herself out as long as she can possibly get, trying to gain as much territory as possible. I pick her up and put her on the floor. Kizzy waits until my cell phone rings. Then, she jumps back on the bed. I say, "Get down." She responds by rolling onto her side, picking up one paw, and doing the imploring paw plead, "I'm cute. I'm so cute. Look how cute I am on your bed. Please let me stay here. It's so comfortable." I pick her up and put her on her dog bed. I sit back down. She jumps back up. This battle of the wills can happen, oh, 35 to 68 times per day.

Every day.

Finally, we compromised. She gets the bed during the day, I have it all to myself at night. I spread a red fleece blanket on top of my poofy comfy comforter. She stretches out on the blanket until bedtime. Then I set her on the floor and stretch out myself.

Queen of the bed.

For now.