6:00 am Sunday Morning at la maison des animaux...
Poodle-Thing Pepito hurtles from the bed to the back door barking as though all the fiends of hell were trying to break in. Joined almost instantly by a full throated chorus from his homies, previously deep in slumber and gently snoring. In the ensuing clamor, cats fly in all directions seeking the high ground. Food bowls flip, kibble scatters generously across the freshly-swept-last-night kitchen floor.
I spring from my bed, instantly jolted from early morning REM by my now-pounding heart. Running to the back door, I flip on the outside light to see... a small raccoon. Probably weighing about 7 pounds, and judging from the tracks in the snow, all alone. And probably trying to sneak in for a couple of handfuls of kibble.
Lord knows I wouldn't have wanted to sleep through that.
After some coaxing, the dogs are convinced that I can handle this imminent danger to life, limb, and the pursuit of happiness, and we all go back to bed.
But not to sleep. Oh, no. That would be too simple. And too kind, even.
15 minutes later, Nola, who is thrashing herself around in her Rat Terrier ritual that precedes sleep, manages to flip herself off the bed and on to the wood floor, where she lands with the resounding thud of a dog 10 times her actual weight.
Heart-rending screams split the quiet. All other dogs return to full alert and full volume. Cats scatter once more. Heart pounds. Sleep retreats swiftly.
Examine Nola for broken bones (none) and injuries (none) and return her to bed. Other dogs return to bed. I return to bed. Much grunting, sighing and turning around. Finally, silence settles.
7:00 am. Peaches moans piteously from her crate, a sound which generally means that she has a tummy issue and has to go outside RIGHT NOW. I stumble out of bed, and pull on a jacket. At the sight of me apparently getting dressed, the canine chorus erupts once more and my ankles are submerged in the tidal wave of dogs. All of whom are now insisting that, yes, they too, have to go outside RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE!!!
I open the door to a swirling snowstorm. Everyone, and I mean everyone, recoils at the sight of the blizzard outside, and makes a U-turn for bed. Deciding that - you know what - they don't have to go quite as urgently as they thought they did five seconds ago.
No such luck. I pitch the lot of them outside, where they cringe and hunch their backs against the driving snow as they pee, all the while shooting me furtive looks of abandonment and abuse. You know the kind I mean. The squinty looks that suggests that you are the worst dog person on the planet, and that they are the unluckiest dogs ever born.
But my heart has been hardened by repeated false alarms. Pee they must, and pee they do. And are now happy to return to their respective warm beds.
Where we sleep undisturbed until a lazy 10:00 am this morning. Without another peep. From anyone.
Sometimes I can be a bitch too.
[dogs]
Poodle-Thing Pepito hurtles from the bed to the back door barking as though all the fiends of hell were trying to break in. Joined almost instantly by a full throated chorus from his homies, previously deep in slumber and gently snoring. In the ensuing clamor, cats fly in all directions seeking the high ground. Food bowls flip, kibble scatters generously across the freshly-swept-last-night kitchen floor.
I spring from my bed, instantly jolted from early morning REM by my now-pounding heart. Running to the back door, I flip on the outside light to see... a small raccoon. Probably weighing about 7 pounds, and judging from the tracks in the snow, all alone. And probably trying to sneak in for a couple of handfuls of kibble.
Lord knows I wouldn't have wanted to sleep through that.
After some coaxing, the dogs are convinced that I can handle this imminent danger to life, limb, and the pursuit of happiness, and we all go back to bed.
But not to sleep. Oh, no. That would be too simple. And too kind, even.
15 minutes later, Nola, who is thrashing herself around in her Rat Terrier ritual that precedes sleep, manages to flip herself off the bed and on to the wood floor, where she lands with the resounding thud of a dog 10 times her actual weight.
Heart-rending screams split the quiet. All other dogs return to full alert and full volume. Cats scatter once more. Heart pounds. Sleep retreats swiftly.
Examine Nola for broken bones (none) and injuries (none) and return her to bed. Other dogs return to bed. I return to bed. Much grunting, sighing and turning around. Finally, silence settles.
7:00 am. Peaches moans piteously from her crate, a sound which generally means that she has a tummy issue and has to go outside RIGHT NOW. I stumble out of bed, and pull on a jacket. At the sight of me apparently getting dressed, the canine chorus erupts once more and my ankles are submerged in the tidal wave of dogs. All of whom are now insisting that, yes, they too, have to go outside RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE!!!
I open the door to a swirling snowstorm. Everyone, and I mean everyone, recoils at the sight of the blizzard outside, and makes a U-turn for bed. Deciding that - you know what - they don't have to go quite as urgently as they thought they did five seconds ago.
No such luck. I pitch the lot of them outside, where they cringe and hunch their backs against the driving snow as they pee, all the while shooting me furtive looks of abandonment and abuse. You know the kind I mean. The squinty looks that suggests that you are the worst dog person on the planet, and that they are the unluckiest dogs ever born.
But my heart has been hardened by repeated false alarms. Pee they must, and pee they do. And are now happy to return to their respective warm beds.
Where we sleep undisturbed until a lazy 10:00 am this morning. Without another peep. From anyone.
Sometimes I can be a bitch too.
[dogs]
