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Herself speaks.

The small dogs are never far from me: I go downstairs, and they go downstairs. I go upstairs, and they go upstairs. I go into the back yard, and they go into the back yard. They are my personal pilot fish. It's mostly amusing, but occasionally hazardous, as they do tend to get underfoot.

With the colder weather, though, they adjust their strategy slightly. When I am showering, instead of waiting on the bath mat they instead bury themselves nearby. Both of them are in the picture below -- one just tucked herself into the red blanket on the couch, and the other is snoring, belly up, in the white blanket on the bed. They both looked so comfortable that I left them there when I went back downstairs to go to work. They did not move, but slumbered on, without a care. 

It's a fine life.