More Chronicles of Sophie

Sophie had a bath, trim, nails cut, the whole nine yards today. She's fluffy and cute and doesn't look like a poodle (my constant worry). Cheers to Whisker Washers and a nice guy named Kirk who took time to comb some mats out of her.
My "puppy" is just two months shy of her second birthday, and she is so much calmer. She's taken to sleeping at my feet, under my desk, though sometimes she just goes and crawls happily into her crate. I guess this afternoon I wakened her before she was ready, because she clearly didn't want to come out. She follows me from room to room. The other day she lost me and suddenly came bounding into the bathroom, pushing the door open, as if to say, "There you are! I found you!" She still has her moments--goes crazy bonkers over Jordan and anyone new, like the dog groomer this morning. Also Greg who does the lawn, Lewis who keeps my house running. Last night, with ten adults and three children for dinner, I had to tell Jacob emphatically that no, he could not let her in. But she's finally growing into a well-behaved dog. Home alone with me, she's calm, quiet, sometimes begs for attention but we've pretty much reached an agreement on our lifestyle.
Every morning when I open her crate, she puts her head in my lap and we have a little loving session, although sometimes it's clear she's more anxious for a drink and a path of grass than love. Every night, when I turn out my desk lamp, she picks up a toy, trying to tempt me to play, but I can bribe her with a treat. Then before she crawls into her crate, I get down on the floor, she climbs in my lap, and we sit and love and I talk to her. Sometimes she twists around to lick my face and other times she contents herself with licking my hands or ankles. But when I make a move in the direction of the crate, she goes willingly. I've developed the habit of singing the first lines of "Good night, Irene," to her. Tried to substitute Sophie for Irene (should work--two syllables) but I can't do it. I have no idea if she likes this or finds it an irritation.
I also talk to her a lot--we discuss whatever's on my mind, from what to fix for supper to whether or not I'm going to leave her long when I put her outside. More and more, she prefers to be in the house, but for some inexplicable reason, she is loathe to come in at night. I cajole, command, threaten and tempt--eventually something works. And then she gets her one chew bone of the day.
Sophie's good company, and she's worth every ounce of frustration that went into her first year--and most of the destruction too. I cannot imagine ever living without a dog.