Wednesday, May 15, 2019

Sweet dreams

I read somewhere that people who sleep with their pets have a better quality of sleep than those who don’t. I would like to have a word with the folks who came to this conclusion. 

On any given night, the following is representative of our house. Keep in mind, this is with one grown-up (and I use that word loosely) dog who sleeps loose and has a comfy dog bed right next to my side of the humans’ bed. When I shut off the TV after the news, he jumps off the human bed, curls up in the dog bed and peace ensues. Briefly. Then all bets are off.

11:45 p.m.

Banner: Grrr. Woof. WOOF! WOOFWOOFWOOF! (Sound of paws racing out of the room and forcefully hitting living room window sill).

Me (climbing out of bed): What are you doing?

Banner: Huntin’! There’s a trespassin' varmint. Lookit! See ‘im? Lemme at ‘im! Gonna get ‘im!

Me: That's Gryffindor the cat. You LIKE Gryffindor.

Banner: Oh. My bad.

12:30 a.m.

Banner: Whine. Whimper. Snarl. Ferocious snarl. Series of ferocious blood-curdling snarls. Silence.

Me: What are you doing?

Banner: Havin’ me a dream. No worries. I got the thing.

Me: What thing?

Banner: The thing under the bed. Okay. I sleeps now.

Me: WTF?

1:03 a.m.

(Sound of paws digging into carpet as Banner sprints out of the bedroom and slams himself into the living room window sill.)

Me: Oh dear Lord, not again.

Banner: WOOFWOOFWOOF! (Glass in the window pane vibrates.)

Jeff: What the hell does your dog want now? (Notice he’s MY dog when he’s doing bizarre shit at 1 in the morning but let him come home from a trial with a fancy ribbon and suddenly all of that changes.)

Me: What are you doing?

Banner: Gittin’ the varmint!

Me: There is no – well crappity crap – there IS a varmint. (Watches raccoon having a party of one outside the window.) But you’re still not getting it.

Banner: Lemme out! Want it! Gonna git it! 

Me: If I let you out, the only thing you would get is a trip to the emergency clinic. You are NOT going out there.

2:14 a.m.

Noises rises from the floor on my side of the bed.

Scratch - scratch (tentative).

Scratch - scratch - scratch (with more authority).

DIG DIG DIG DIG DIG! (now in full-blown excavation mode).

Me: What are you doing?

Banner: Makin' a nest.

Me: No you aren’t, you’re making a racket.

Banner: Nesting. See. Fluffin’ my blanket.

Me: You don’t have a blanket. You have a dog bed. You can’t fluff it.

Banner: Lumpy. Needs fluffin’. 

Me: Your head is lumpy. Go to sleep.

3:43 a.m.




Jeff: What is wrong with that dog? (It’s possible he’s passed me and given ownership over to a third party at this point.)

Me: What. Are. You. Doing. 

Banner: Cleanin’ my junk.

Me: Oh for fuck’s sake. (Sorry. I do not possess a great deal of decorum in the hours before dawn.) Is it necessary to do that next to where I’m sleeping? Can’t you go do it in another room? Or better yet, don’t do it at all.

Banner: Nope. Gonna lay right here in my nest and do it.

Me: Your junk can’t be that dirty.

Banner: Needs cleanin’. Wanna see?

Me: NO! Go to sleep. And stay that way!

5:07 a.m.

Stealthy footsteps traverse from one side of the bed to the other, punctuated by the sound of wiggling. You don’t think a wiggle can be heard? Think again.

Me (groaning): What? (I can’t even muster the rest of the sentence.) 

Banner: We gets up.

Me: No. We don’t.

Banner: We gets up. Breakfasts. Time to do the things.

Me: If I get up right now, you’re not going to like the things I do.

Banner: You grumpy. What wrong? No sleeps last night?

If this is quality sleep with pets, I'd hate to see what it's like without them.

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