Dog day morning

My Monday started early.

At 3:12 a.m., to be exact.

My bladder prodded me awake, as a middle-aged bladder will sometimes do in the middle of the night.  I managed to take care of business and settle back into bed with only a minimum level of consciousness so as to ensure continued restful sleep.

It’s a ninja skill.

But my restful slumber was not to be. My ninja skills were no match for the highly evolutionary hearing of my dog, Jax. Once he heard me climb back into bed, he decided he:  1. needed to pee too; 2. wanted to dig in the compost pile near the garden; and 3. wanted to patrol for rabbits. Or moles. Or ninjas.

Starting at 3:14 a.m.

I heard him come down the steps and I was very still in my bed, hoping he was just doing a security check. Usually if he gets up during the night, he looks in all doorways and, satisfied of our safety, goes back to sleep … on the den couch.

He is not allowed on the furniture, I swear.

But instead he began the pee prance. It’s a delicate ballet that involves a circle around the bed, trip down the hall to the kitchen, stop at back door for a three-second pause (in case I’ve followed to let him out), and lap around the table. Then a repeat of the loop until sleeping people get up and let him out. This choreography includes a percussive element in the rat-a-tat-tat of his toes on the kitchen floor.

I tried to ignore it and get back to sleep. It’s not like he’s a crying baby and I have to tend to him.  But just like a baby, he will make a mess if I don’t tend to him. And unlike a baby, he ain’t exactly wearing a diaper.

So, at 3:32, I was at the back door to let him out.  He slunk off the deck into the blackness of the night and quickly took care of business.

Like a ninja.

Except he didn’t slink back in the door. I waited for him to do a quick security patrol of the fence. He’s diligent like that. But he circled back to the garden area and I knew he was up to no good.

I called his name in a hoarse whisper so as not to wake the neighbors … you know, those sleeping people with sleeping dogs who live all around me. I offered treats. I closed the door, playing hard to get (hey, sometimes it works). But no. Instead, I spied by the security light of the garden shed, dirt flying and his nose to the ground.

Digging.

That bastard.

So, at 3:45 a.m., I was in my back yard dressed in PJs and flip-flops, and adorned with a severe bout of bed head, a Breathe-Rite Strip and retainer (S-E-X-Y, I know), luring (more like chasing) my dog in the wet grass with a piece of ham in my hand.

I finally fell asleep (with dewy ankles, no less) at 4:17-ish.

And awoke at 4:31 a.m. to the sound of scratching above my head.

That bastard.

You see, our den is located upstairs directly above our bedroom. And it seems Jax was inexplicably clawing the carpet. At 4:31 a.m. Directly above my head.

By the time I reached the steps, he had stopped.

That bastard.

The rest of my night – though it was technically morning – was fitful dozing until the alarm finally sounded and I had a full, busy day to jump into on a little more than four hours of sleep.

As mad as I was at him, all was quickly forgiven. For all his faults – digging in the garden, goosing the cats, barking at the neighbors, getting on the furniture, pawing the carpet, eating cat toys, farting and walking away, tracking muddy paws … wait, what was my point?

Oh yeah … he has a lot of good qualities too.

He’s usually very well behaved (usually).

He always says please.

He is playful.

He is diligent.

He is inquisitive.

He apologizes.

And that’s what love is all about: forgiveness, tolerance, patience, kindness. Recognizing the good and the bad ... and accepting us just the same.

Sure, there are some sleepless nights.

But there’s always lots of smiles to get us through the day.