I used to have an old hound who had a dog bed. One dog bed. He had it for a decade. He carried it from room to room with him. It had a zip cover over some foam stuff, and I washed the cover sometimes, and he slept on it. I felt secure in our dog-bed arrangement. Then I got these puppies. They don't stay the same size. I have, currently, four dog beds. One left over from the old hound, which these two eschew despite its having been washed thoroughly; one small one that fits inside the kennel, which Annie has nearly outgrown already; one round fluffy orthopedic bed for Banjo's sad hip; and now a giant cedar dog bed from Costco that I am pretty sure I could comfortably fit on. The last one I bought because Banjo has become a giant dog and fits in the small bed only when she curls into a tiny ball and also because Annie had usurped it.
I brought in the giant dog bed and plopped in on the floor, happily confident that Banjo would sprawl on it and enjoy its hugeness.
Here's what happened: