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The places in our house that Baxter can call his own have grown since the day he moved in with us. At first, his collection of beds was limited to four, three of them inherited from Kep and Padua, and one new bed we purchased from Wal-mart, all scattered throughout the house for his comfort and convenience. More than enough, we thought, for this little dog that we vowed we would not spoil.

Soon after his arrival when it became obvious that he would be a good traveller and house guest, we added to his collection a collapsible kennel. Cold and hard by itself, the crate needed a cushy mat inside, and thus arrived bed number five, a rectangular cushion that I covered in a pocket of cuddly red microfleece. An otherwise wonderful place for any dog to rest, but Baxter's least favorite bed because he uses it only when crated. Even though he is free to use it whenever he likes, I never see him in bed number five unless I'm looking at him through his prison bars.

The giant square pillow that is bed number six came at Christmas time, courtesy of his grandparents. Originally intended for human use to stretch out on the floor to watch TV, bed number six officially became his when our new reclining sofa arrived, though Baxter had already adopted this bed many months before that. Bed number six now rests at the foot of our bed and serves as the first stop in his nightly bedhogging ritual. A ritual that ultimately ends with his porcine transformation and domination of our own queen sized bed.

As Baxter defined and settled into the routines that would be his daily life with us, more beds made their way into our house. An orange floor cushion, a serendipitous ten buck find at Rugged Wearhouse, became bed number seven and has dutifully served as an integral late afternoon stop on his daily solar migration path. Bed number eight, an easy peasy practically free bed, is available for Baxter's enjoyment year round, though he chooses to use it seasonally, in the wintertime when Baxter glues himself to the nearby portable heater.

Easy peasy beds nine and ten are strategically placed in the family room and living room so that Baxter can rest quietly and still keep an eye on things. Some late summer nights, when the heat of my computer and the heat of my lap is too much to bear, Baxter trundles off to bed number ten, curling his body and dozing, patiently waiting until recognizes the signs that it is time for us both to go upstairs.

With the anniversary of Baxter's adoption happening later this month, I can hardly believe that he's been with us for two years. When I survey all the places that Baxter can now call his own, I realize Baxter's beds have invaded our house in much the same way as our little kielbasa has embedded himself in our lives. Slowly. Quietly. Wonderfully.