Hello, Dixie here. I hacked my human's account because I wish to demand equal time for those of us of the canine persuasion (some of you call us “woozles,” which always makes me give serious side eye and snicker).
I would have you know that we so-called “woozles” also take great delight in the well-crafted pads so lovingly created by humans Sara and Ann. Mine is a lavender-and-thyme-scented bit of heaven-on-earth that is always there for me.
When my human goes against my express wishes by not providing tasty comestibles for me to enjoy at least eight times per day, my woozle pad is there to offer fragrant and uncritical comfort and relaxation.
When I choose not to share my human's bed at night because his snoring is, well, just grotesque (he maintains that I snore, which is patently risible), my woozle pad carries me into dreamland.
When I was hospitalized last week, I only knew my human still cared for me because he brought my woozle pad to the hospital to spend the night with me. I have had my doubts about him on occasion but I have to, how do you say, give props to someone who could cajole hospital staff into making my deplorable cage a tad less inhospitable.
As it happens, I also have experience with the enormous human-sized pad (or quilt) that my human has wrapped us both in during the cooler months. But not today because it's hot as a crotch here most unpleasantly warm this afternoon. But I digress. My human obviously loves his big unwieldy pad even though it doesn't waft divine scent across the room like my own, far superior pad does. I think it must be a matter of some emotion to him for I sometimes catch him reading and re-reading the words hand-printed on it. He's a good egg and does provide me with (a scanty but nutritious) two meals per day, so I shall refrain from critiquing his tendency toward being a sentimental fool.
Now then. Take it from me, a dog wise in years: Sara and Ann deserve all the support you humans can give them and more. Even though I am told they are “cat people,” I have it on good authority that their hearts are noble and pure. Please help by supporting them at the unfortunately named Kickstarter (I have a less than pleasant history with kicks).
I must wind this up now before my human gets back from the corner store (if he's wise he will have procured me some nice cheese). Thank you for reading, now go do what I say: contribute to the Quilt Sisters’ Kickstarter.
postscript: I speak your language so well because my human is constantly talking to me like a gibbering fool. He seldom shuts up when we're alone together. But that's a small price to pay for the fairly competent service he renders as my factotum, my, er, … dogsbody.
Almighty Dog (or as some of you call her, Ceiling Cat) will bless you for doing the right thing for Sara and Ann.