Stella has a lot of responsibilities around the house. She has to eat. She has to sleep. She has to occasionally pee somewhere she definitely wasn’t supposed to. It’s a demanding life. So naturally, after a long day of doing absolutely nothing, she needs somewhere comfortable to relax.

Apparently, that somewhere is Dad.

Stella is a professional snuggler. There’s no asking permission. No slowly working her way over to see if there’s room. She just climbs up, finds a spot, and settles in like she pays the mortgage.

And once she’s comfortable, you’re done. Need to get up? Too bad.

Phone across the room? Should’ve thought about that earlier.

Leg falling asleep? Sounds like a personal problem.

Because the second that little head gets comfortable and her eyes start closing, Dad is legally prohibited from moving.

I don’t make the rules. There are worse problems to have, though. For all the attitude, questionable decisions, and occasional crimes against the carpet, Stella is still Dad’s little girl.

She may spend part of the day challenging Abbi like she’s ten times her actual size, but eventually she comes looking for Dad, curls up as close as physically possible, and reminds me that underneath all that attitude is one incredibly sweet little dog.

So I guess I’ll sit here a little longer.

My leg may be numb, but Stella is comfortable.

And apparently that’s what matters