I bought a new bed for my dog, Yodie the Yorkie from the underworld.

I only call her a (dog) here between us, if I said it out loud where “Little Miss Princess who runs earth” heard it I would be in serious trouble.

I am asking that no one call my little goddess from hell and read this to her. I am confident she does not know how to read… yet.

I bought her a new bed for two reasons. First, she has the stupidest bed in the world and I hate looking at it all flat and aggravating lying on the floor in my living room next to the couch. I call it my living room, but it should be referred to as Yodie’s ruling room .

She would only lay in her bed to annoy me before dragging her toys over to me for the forced play period in the ruling room.

The other reason I bought her a new bed was I imagined she might like it and spend some time in it at night, giving me a little room in my bed. Stupid me.

I have a queen size bed and there should be plenty of space for me. I get two inches of it, grudgingly, if the Little Princess who must know Satan is feeling benevolent.

It’s amazing how this pint-size demon can flop on the bed, stretch out and take almost every inch. If I try to move her I’ve suddenly committed five or more of the seven deadly sins, and I don’t even know what they are.

Last weekend I finally snapped and decided to buy her a new bed. I knew I would have to come up with a plan to sneak the old bed out and bring in the new. I played an ingenious trick on her. I faked her out with a couple of special treats and made the big switcheroo.

She noticed quicker then I thought she would, because she is a (dog).

You would think I had run over her mother with a semi.

Suddenly I was the worst dog slave on earth. If you think (dogs) can’t glare and use the guilt card, think again.

I tried everything. I hid her favorite treats in the bed. She wouldn’t even sniff them. She disappeared into the bedroom and wouldn’t come out. I was getting the silent treatment.

That night I had my bed portion cut in half.

This weekend I will go buy every bed I can find to see if I can get back on her good side, if there is one.

Considering the dilemma I find myself in, I have a philosophical question I would like answered. Why did God invent Yorkies. What was he thinking. I mean after the flood this should have been easy. All he had to do was say, “You’re fine, you’re fine, OK, nope no Yorkies.”

But no, God couldn’t seem to pull that little miracle off. He can separate the Red Sea and do all sorts of fancy things, but when it comes to Yorkies it’s hands off.

Thanks for being there, God.

I have to go. My demon princess is calling.