Apologies if this post is ramblier than usual. I’ve been awake since 4:30 or so when the lightning started.
One, I don’t sleep well with flickering light. I discovered this fact in college with a night owl roommate who immensely enjoyed David Letterman. I did not.
Two, this dog, this Honey Houdini who is such a sweet girl, is terrified of lightning, thunder, even precipitation alone. I kid you not; I’ve seen her go from sound asleep on the floor to a pacing, drooling, panting, frantic, going-to-lose-her-mind-and-drive-us-out-of-ours mess in a matter of seconds. If she weren’t ours, it might be funny.
We know there are among you other storm-crazed dogs. Our friends’ Sadie hides in the laundry room with her blanket. We wish Honey would hide. I don’t know if it’s because Great Pyrenees are herders and worker dogs, but she can’t stay in one place. She tries to climb over Bosley’s crate, which gets him agitated as well. She pulls stuff off the counters. (Yes, I heard that. “Well, keep your counters clear then.”) Then she might just breach them completely. Over the wall, men! So then there’s Stuff to pick up and lakes puddles of slippery drool all over the floor. And potentially a bashed over baby gate, which we use to keep both these ridiculous dogs out of the kitchen. It makes an almighty crash which ALSO scares her to death, but she never learns.
Sleeping for me during storms around here is an exercise in hilarity. I have the bedroom ceiling fan running and was graciously lent a sound machine from Thing One. My brain likes to play the Will We Let the Sound Distractions Work or Shall We Listen for Honey to Charge the Gate? Those of you with Mom Ears know exactly what I’m talking about. Was that a floorboard? That was a flush. That was a crinkle. That was a “what are you doing eating Wheat Things out of the box at 7 AM? And where did all these Oatmeal Crème Pie wrappers come from that weren’t here at bedtime?”
What? That only happens at our house? I know better. I know some of y’all tuck those kids in, go to get yourselves ready for bed, and then find a kid eating a waffle in your bed.
I digress.
I honestly dug a brand new, still wrapped, plastic Wendy’s spoon out of the picnic drawer rather than step over the dratted gate once more to reach the real silverware drawer. If that sounds strange, it’s because we put the silverware in the very last drawer of the bar counter (behind Honey in pics below) so that kitchen congestion is eased. That way people can exit the kitchen with their food, grab their silverware en route to the table, and nobody is underfoot. Except Bosley. Always. Hence the need for the baby gate in the first place.
I’ve tried going back to sleep, twice, but both times I’ve laid down after a period of calm, the thunder has rolled within 90 seconds, starting her back up again. I made my first attempt on the couch in the Old Lady Room, beside where my nomad, the Damonater, is sleeping in a recliner. Unreclined. My second attempt was back in bed. I actually moaned and did a face palm when I heard it, to which Dada’s response was to roll over, away from me. So here’s me at 4 something, 5 something, and now 6 something AM puttering about since by brain has to intention of waking fully yet.
Pray for me. Supposed to be four days of storms this week. I should just go and sleep in the playhouse where I can’t hear the dogs, but then Dada would get lonely. Heh.
At least I have my coffee…
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