Our Red.

I know, Red. There are many, many pictures of and stories about your brother, Arnold, on this blog. There aren't as many of you. I've been negligent. I'm sorry.

Red, you're a compact little animal - a tank of a thing - and you're the best snuggler I've ever met. You used to sleep between Brad and me at night - our chastity heeler - but now you favor your dad's side of the bed. I think you're a little pissed at me for the lack of Red-related posts. I know you read this blog every day, right after you finish the Times crossword and check out what Wonkette is saying.

So this is my homage to you, little man. You talkative monkey. Every morning, just as the thin line above the horizon breaks the night, you spring to it. "Raar rar, raar! Arr, rar,raar!" You nibble our ears and necks and hair and faces. You nuzzle in, still talking. More like yelling, actually, especially at 5:30 am. You're so funny, Red. Trying to be tough in front of your dad, but really a total lover. You prefer sleeping under quilts to "heading secuity," which is your dad's job for you. Just underfoot, you go where I go (I step on you rather frequently). You read my moods and know when I need a furry shoulder. There's a great big heart in that fawn-like coat-covered body of yours, and I'm glad you're willing to share it with me.

To you, buddy.

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