I'm an animal lover. Well, ok maybe not an animal LOVER so to speak, but I don't drown kittens or anything. I like seeing them occasionally, and I'll pet them if they happen to wander my way. We even had a dog that I loved very much, but that was before we had children to raise. We made sure she went to a great home and I shed a tear or two when she left, so I think that qualifies as AT LEAST "animal enthusiast." I mean, I have seen Marley and Me twice so that pretty much makes me the freakin' president of PETA, right?
Well, I may have to resign my position due to a little experience with a certain pooch who may or may not live through the next 24 hours. You see, I've had sort of a "rough" patch in my life lately. As in, I haven't slept in approximately a year and a half, my youngest son sent me on the roller coaster of my life, and I had to stop the one exercise I happened to like because you have to be at least coherent during daytime hours in order to go for a run. The combination of all of the above have put me in, let's just say, a LESS than chipper mood.
However, for whatever reason my son FINALLY decided that he was going to sleep an entire night. That, coupled with the fact that I have recently allowed myself to actually close my eyes when I hit the pillow, made me think that maybe, just maybe, I might get some adequate sleep. And I would have. If it weren't for one teensy little problem. At approximately 4 am, one of my neighbors thought that it would be ok to let their dog outside. That would have been fine if the dog had done his business and gone back in for the night. This, however, was not the case. The damn thing began to bark and did so, unceasingly, until 7:30 am.
The first 30 seconds of the doggie serenade made me feel bad for the poor guy. He just wanted to go back inside. See?...animal lover! But, yeah, that didn't last long. I sort of immediately began plotting his slow and painful death. Like maybe a little trip down to the river, for perhaps a sort of eternal game of "fetch." (Don't get all self-righteous and huffy with me. Like you haven't thought about such things at 4 am.) So anyway, as I'm seething beneath the covers I look over at the clock and realize that this lovely creature has now kept me awake for 2 hours. At this point, my genius husband begins to stir and realizes that perhaps there is something disturbing his beauty sleep. I watch him clumsily head for the windows and close them. Then he comes back to the bed, notices that I'm awake, and starts to move his mouth. I stare at him in warning, so as to telepathically prevent him from asking the stupid question that I know is coming. Of course, he misses this message and says, "Do you hear that dog?" No, not at all. Dog? What dog? Oh, you mean that incessant noise coming from the demonic flea bag outside the window? I may have noticed it.
I'm guessing I'm going to have a little conversation today about maybe NOT leaving the dog outside all night. I think if I present my case in a level-headed, calm manner, they will see things my way. And if not, tonight it's Shish-Kadoggie.