The Princess and the Pea, 2008

There is a story by Kevin Helliker on the Wall St Journal website right now called "The Rise of Beds, and Falls of Dogs". You can read it here but they may not make it available for non-subscribers.

Basically it tells of the growing danger to house pets caused by the higher and higher mattresses that are now being made. Apparently, old dogs don't quite realize that they can't jump on and off the new mattress the way they did the older one that was closer to the floor.

And for little dogs like Pekingese ... well, I think Stephen Crane (the vet, not the 19th century novelist) said it best. "For a little dog to take a flying leap off a bed that's five to six times higher than he stands is an act of courage, and a recipe for injury."

I know what he means. Little dogs are courageous - or perhaps it's stupidity masquerading in human terms of bravery. One of my favorite dogs growing up was a chihuahua named Buttons. She was everything a little dog needed to be - fearless, aggressive and unaware that she could be crushed at any second by whatever or whomever she was yapping at.

But this post is prompted more because of the high beds than the leaping little dogs. For more than a year now, Linda and I have been using one of those over-swollen mattresses to create a very high bed. Linda loves the VHB. I hate it. But that may be because I am not comfortable with any piece of furniture that is higher than my butt.

But Linda, I imagine, feels she's doing the 21st century version of The Princess and the Pea. The fact that we had to consider installing oxygen masks above the bed doesn't phase her. It is, shall we say, a topic of difficult discussion almost every night as she seems to float into the rarefied air where we sleep, and I flop my way onto the bed like a walrus trying to itch its butt with its short flippers.

I sent her the Wall St Journal story to show her that I wasn't insane when I told her these beds posed dangers. I'm not even looking to change anything, but I thought she would at least acknowledge that the extra height of the new mattresses did create problems.

But when I asked her about her reaction, it was her practical nature that came forward. Without acknowledging that I may have had just a teensy bit of right in my position, she did say, "Look, if you're worried about getting in and out the bed, why don't you just buy a set of those dog steps."

"I am not buying dog steps to go to bed at night," I said.

"Yeah," she shot back, "but if you are having trouble getting in and out because of your bad knee, then why don't you just get a step and make your life easier."

I might, I told her, if my leg didn't get better soon. But it would just be a regular step, not a dog step.

"Well, that makes sense," she said. "But it doesn't change anything. It's still a dog step, even if you're the one using it."

I guess you can see why I seldom win one of these discussions. And I am sure most of you will agree with my decision to never, under any circumstance, use a step to get into our very high bed.