Punky slept in my bed all night, atop my wondrous bosom.  She was frightened of the wind and I gave her shelter.  I told her tales of the wicked wind, of the fireworks which She, too, was also behind; I showed the frightened dog a place under my blanket where those like her had found safe haven.  Sometimes, when she seemed comfortable, and had eased her shivers and breathing, I slowly took out a hockey stick, and started banging on the walls.  She jumped, and I comforted her, like a hero.  She knew she was safe, leaning on me, quietly asleep.  Sometimes, she would have to leap off the bed when I turned over; sometimes I mistook her for another pillow, grabbed her by the neck, and stuffed her under my head.