Why did I wait? I really don’t know.

I imagine, when Quillow first joined my family, that his health was good enough he didn’t need a special bed. He certainly never “asked” for one, generally content to sleep on the floor wherever he was. Quite obviously an outdoor dog before my time, he often prefers the chill of the tile, if not the garage, floor. His coat is thick.

And Quillow, being Quillow, has never been one to ask (much less demand) anything. Other, perhaps, than a fair shake.

I piled, one atop the other, two cheap dog “beds” for nighttime which seemed to suffice. He knew it was his (Minor has his crate when he wanted it) and would go to it every bedtime – to move to the floor as soon as I switched out the lights.

I don’t know when creeping age ultimately robbed him of his ability to jump up onto (and off) the bed. We tried the solid dog ramp. No good. He’d take the floor, thank you very much.

Aging led to increasing stiffness. I could sympathize as I watched the time he couldn’t rise at all. Or, finally struggling to his feet, came running with his big embrace (for Quillow that means head securely between my legs – and it’s best at such times I can lean against a wall so he doesn’t knock me over), tail wagging vigorously.

I knew he needed a better bed. I knew he deserved a better bed – thoughts I repeated every night at bedtime. His, and mine.

Then, I confess, the superstitions began: He’s been here almost three and half years, making him someplace between 10 and 13, old at either range for a large golden retriever. Would getting him a new bed jinx all we had – and enjoyed?

I confess for a long time I felt if I ordered what he needed I’d be dooming him to an immediate demise. Those things happen, you know. Fate? Coincidence? I wasn’t keen to push it.

But months passed and Quillow, while holding his own healthwise, wasn’t getting any better. All right, I vowed at last. I’ll leave it up to the Fates.

Is one supposed to bargain? It is even permissible? I did: the next time a catalogue comes in the mail with the bed I want (I was certain of that), I’ll order it.

It did. I did. The best orthopedic dog mattress on the market. Delivery expected in one to two weeks.

Oh, dear! Here I go again!

I listen to his heavy panting and fear the worst, tending to forget he’s been doing that since the first day he came.

Maybe the store knows something I don’t. (I hope not.) The box was at the post office three days later, the bed put together – foam inserted in the liner, never easy – before lunchtime. I did have to call to ask if the eggcrate side goes up or down. Surprisingly, it is up.

Well, Quillow has his bed and is just fine with it. He’ll sleep on it until I turn out the lights. Then it’s back to the floor he goes.

With Minor “sharing” during the daylight hours.

I truly doubt if Quillow cares one way or the other. Being here, being with us, is what matters to that dog.

But I feel much better knowing he has the best. That’s enough.

Susan Crossett has lived outside Cassadaga for more than 20 years. A lifetime of writing led to these columns as well as two novels. Her Reason for Being was published in 2008 with Love in Three Acts appearing in 2014. Copies are available at the Cassadaga ShurFine and Papaya Arts on the Boardwalk in Dunkirk. Information on all the Musings, the books and the author may be found at Susancrossett.com.