Sleepless in Grand Junction

I'm not for certain, but I think the reason I couldn't stay asleep last night was because Uber-husband and I sat in bed and read before turning the lights out instead of sitting, like plops of lard, in front of the television.

I mean, it just doesn't make any sense. I was tired. I was comfortable. But I could only stay asleep for minutes at a time.

Sleeping in the winter is always tricky for us because we're not alone when it's cold.

No, we've got one cat that loves to walk all over us and sleep on a hip, shoulder, head ... whatever is appealing to her.

And, despite our efforts to get her to sleep with the kid or — heaven forbid — her kennel, we often wake up with the dog curled up into a tiny ball at the foot of our bed ... under the covers, right where my feet should be.

That's a picture of our dog, Quincy.

She's an Italian greyhound.

Basically, she's a miniature greyhound. She stand about 15" at the shoulder and weighs about 15 pounds.

And as you can readily see from the photo, she's supa-fast. What you can't tell from the photo, but is immediately apparent when you walk into our house, is that she's absolutely the neediest creature alive.

When people other than Uber-husband or myself come into our house, the dog hurtles herself at the sorry visitor like a teenager after a ringing cell phone.

If you make the mistake of trying to sit on the sofa, there she is, all up in your grill, trying to give you the love that she knows you need and hoping with her desperate, little, doggie heart that you'll love her in return.

It's really pathetic. But she's our dog and I rarely want to kill her anymore (this was not the case when we decided it was a good idea to get a puppy when Wee One was a 4-month-old baby — stupid is as stupid does).

Despite her neediness, she's a relatively good dog.

She doesn't bark very much at all. She's great company for Wee One — the two of them love to roughhouse and dash around chasing each other.

She's also a good camping dog. She stays close to camp and we don't have to keep her on a leash (unlike at home, where she'll run off the first chance she gets). She's a good hiker, too.

But really, she's built for one thing: running.

She's so amazing when we take her out to sprint around the school field. We don't have to throw a ball or frisbee, she'll just take off.

Her stick-figure-like body stretches out into the long, lean lines of a runner and then, she's gone.

She'll run in giant, graceful circles around us. Then I'll call her and she'll tack around, heading directly at me, but at the last possible minute, she'll dodge my legs, brushing my pant leg.

She's five now and I still find myself delighted by the sight of Quincy running at full speed.

I find it remarkable that we can not only breed a dog whose entire body composition lends itself to the act of running, but to also instill the hunger for the run.

If the powers that be in the dog-breeding kingdom had only included into the Italian greyhound the desire to sleep in a kennel, I'd have fewer bags under my eyes.