It’s my house

Every morning I make my bed.
Since my wife died 10 months ago (today, Sunday, February 17th, 2013, is 10 months), she’s no longer around to make the bed, and I couldn’t stand climbing into an unmade bed.
So I make the bed myself.
It’s a process that takes perhaps 10-15 minutes, unmaking the bed, then remaking it.
Sheets get pulled up and tucked in.
Then a bedspread gets put on, and a small blanket after that.
A quilt goes atop that, followed by a blanket to protect from the dog.
My dog is sleeping on her bed at the foot of my bed, but waiting the whole time.
She knows when the bed is made, she can jump on it.
I don’t think my wife would have allowed this, even with that blanket to protect that quilt.
But now the house is mine.
I never wanted it that way, but now it is.
I figure the dog endures enough insanity and sadness to allow her on the bed.
So, pillows shammed: “There, Big Meathead, the bed is made.”
BOINK!
“The house is mine, so you are allowed on the bed,” I say through tears.
I thereafter pet the dog.
Shamming the pillows, I always get “The Look.”
“Can I jump on it yet? Can I? Can I?”

• My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. At the time she was 68. I miss her dearly.
• My current dog is “Scarlett” (two “Ts,” as in Scarlett O’Hara), a rescue Irish-Setter. She’s seven, and is my sixth Irish-Setter, a high-energy dog. (A “rescue Irish Setter” is an Irish Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. abusive or a puppy-mill. [Scarlett was from a failed backyard breeder.] By getting a rescue-dog, we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't bad. She’s my fourth rescue.)
• RE: “Meathead.....” —Every dog we (I) ever owned I’ve nicknamed “Meathead.” With me Scarlett knows of herself as “Meathead.” (A previous dog, who was rather small, I called “Little Meathead.”) —“Meathead” because like a pot-head likes marijuana, my dog likes meat.