Last night was supposed to be simple. Just an ordinary night, an ordinary plan: crawl into bed, get some rest, reset for the next day. Nothing dramatic. Nothing memorable. But Teddy had other ideas. And once Teddy decides something, well… the decision is final.
It started innocently enough. Teddy climbed onto the bed the way he always does—slow, careful, like he’s politely asking permission. A paw here. A nose there. One deep sigh, as if the weight of the world rests on his golden shoulders. I thought, Okay, fine. We’ll share. That was my first mistake.
Somewhere between falling asleep and dreaming, the balance of power shifted. I woke up slightly, only to realize I could no longer move. My arm was pinned. My legs were trapped. My pillow? Gone. Teddy, meanwhile, was stretched out like royalty—sprawled across the bed with absolute confidence, breathing deeply, completely unbothered by the fact that I was now clinging to the edge like a guest who overstayed his welcome.
And then came the look.
That calm, serious, unblinking stare that says, This is my bed now. No barking. No growling. Just silence and authority. Teddy didn’t need words. His presence said everything. I adjusted. He didn’t. I scooted. He expanded. Every attempt I made to reclaim even a few inches was met with a gentle paw placed firmly on my chest—as if to remind me who was in charge.
At some point, I realized the truth: I had been evicted.
There I was, lying stiff as a board, half-awake, afraid that one wrong move would disturb His Majesty’s sleep. Teddy snored softly, dreaming whatever peaceful dreams dogs dream, completely unaware—or maybe fully aware—of his victory. The bed belonged to him now. I was merely allowed to exist beside it.
But here’s the thing: even in that moment, cramped and uncomfortable, there was warmth. Teddy’s warmth. That quiet comfort that only comes from a dog who trusts you enough to sleep like that. Who feels safe enough to take up space. Who knows, deep down, that this is home.
So I stayed. No complaints. No protests. Because while I may have lost my spot on the bed, I gained something better—a reminder of how love works. Sometimes love snores. Sometimes it steals your blanket. Sometimes it puts a paw on your chest and claims your side without asking.
And somehow… you wouldn’t trade it for anything.
This morning, Teddy woke up refreshed. Tail wagging. Eyes bright. Me? Slightly sore, definitely tired—but smiling. Because being evicted by Teddy doesn’t feel like losing. It feels like belonging.
Guess who got the whole bed last night?
