November 02, 2004
I Am Not Writing About the Election Today!
I have a 60 lb., 2-1/2 year old yellow lab named Daisy. My dog does not sleep with us. Dogs belong on the floor.
Now don't start with me. I am not mean. Daisy is well fed with top-o-the-line kibble. She has a comfy dog bed all her own. She has lots of toys, treats and attention. I just don't want the shedding, snoring beast on my pillow.
I used to dog-sit for an older, single woman's two shih tzus. Their list of "needs" included extensive daily brushing, a daily shower complete with shampoo and conditioner, and of course, they would need to be lifted onto the bed to sleep with me at night.
Yes, you read it right -- the woman not only slept with her dogs, she showered with them. Wet and naked with tiny, hairy yappers. Chilling.
Needless to say, altho' the dogs were not mistreated or ignored, they were not attended to in the fashion to which they had become accustomed. And they were none the worse for wear.
Which is a really long way of explaining -- I'm the only bitch allowed in my bed. I do, however, sleep with an over-active imagination.
When I was little, my nightmares were so bad, I would scream for my Mom, who would lay down with me until I feel back asleep, with the light on. Nowadays, Mom gets cranky if her phone rings at 3 a.m., so I cling to the Husband like he was the last lifejacket on the Titanic. And when my frigid toes meet his adorable butt-cheeks (I go positively fetal), he wakes up -- conveniently -- so that I may tell him my dream.
"A sorcerer?"
"Yes, but he was in the shape of an alligator, and I couldn't fly high enough to reach the ladder!" Silence. "It was really scary!"
"I'm sure it was."
Heartless bastard.
But the one I had on vacation a few weeks ago was really scary. Really! It starred that creepy, hairy dead girl from "The Ring" (I hate that bitch), with a couple cameos courtesy of "The Grudge."
[I have seen "The Ring." But I have only seen a trailer of "The Grudge." Yes, I had a nightmare about a trailer. I should mention here that I am the Queen of Wussdom.]
So I woke up in the pitch black cabin in the middle of the woods, knowing that the dead girl was after me. It was darker out than we city-folk can believe it gets. Husband was still back home, and a screened-in porch separated the cabin I was sleeping in from the cabin Dad was sleeping in. (The original cabin has the fireplace, but the new cabin has the bathroom. I'm partial to indoor plumbing myself.) That seaweed-haired bitch could just sneak in the screen door and strangle me with her white, gnarled, little hands without Dad even knowing!!!
I was terrified. Can't-move, afraid-of-the-windows, alone-in-the-dark-woods, can't-even-scream petrified.
But I gotta admit. There was one funny part to the dream. Me and two friends were in a boiler room, being chased by drippy-hair girl, running for the door. Friend One made it out. I reached the door, and it started closing, slowly but unstoppably.
I'm like, "Hurry up! The door is closing!"
Friend Two stops a foot from the door and is all, "The door's not closing by itself. You guys just don't want me to come with you."
Meanwhile, I'm stuggling to keep the haunted door open for her. "Are you fucking kidding me?!"
But seriously, it was freaking me out at the time. I laid there, praying for sunrise, which was hours away, not even daring to close my eyes. And it was in that most desperate hour that I succumbed.
I made that shedding, shoring, bed-hogging, butt-licking beast get into bed with me. And now there's fucking dog hair in my sleeping bag.