I spent most of the weekend mucking out my room. That is, I’ve been in there cleaning it up from the disaster-area state that it was in and moving things around.

It’s not completely done. There’s a lot of things in boxes, and I’ve got a lot of sorting ahead. But my carpet has been revealed as a completely depressing shade of red and you can actually walk from the door all the way to the bed.

I’m not used to this!

So you can imagine my surprise when I’m curled up on the bed relaxing after having worked rather hard on the room, re-reading John Scalzi’s Old Man’s War and munching on some black licorice I bought at the store earlier when, suddenly, there’s a snuffling and the dog appears at the side of the bed, looking longingly at my treats and giving me the sad puppydog eyes.

I moved over to let her get on the bed, and shared a few of my treats (I know; I’m so cruel) and she’s been on the bed since, staying put even as I fetched the camera and took the shot.

Such are the perils of clean rooms, I tell you.