I awoke this morning at 5:10 a.m., an entire 35 minutes before my alarm went off. Why would I do such a thing? Oh, I don't know. Maybe because there were four stubby little pug paws pushing into my back in an attempt to push me off the king-sized mattress.
I'm not exaggerating here. He was exerting so much effort to push me off the bed that he was actually grunting. And not his usual flat-snout grunt. No this was the grunt of intense labor, of putting your all into moving an object as if life or death depended on it.
In the first waves of early morning sleepiness, I didn't fully comprehend what was happening. I thought I was dreaming. Or that the Aggie was crowding me. So I went to the bathroom and returned to my spot in the bed, thinking the incident was over.
I laid on my side with my body away from Sonny the Pug. The Aggie was soundly on the other side of the bed. He wasn't within three feet of touching me. I lay my head down and immediately began drifting back off to sleep.
Then the pushing began again.
I rolled over to see Sonny staring at me, grunting mid-shove. This is not an agile creature, Internet. He is at least 12-years-old, walks stiff legged and has hip dysplasia and arthritis. When he gets in the bed with us he stays in his spot at the foot of the bed because he can't manage to walk on the squishiness of the mattresses.
Or so we thought.
Last night, not only did Sonny climb to middle of the bed, but he also pulled all the cover off of me and had gotten under it and formed a cocoon. I suppose since he'd made it that far, he just thought: "Why the hell not! While I'm at it I'll just take her spot and her pillow too."
Not to be outdone by the pug, I rolled him over toward his daddy and moved back into my area of the bed.
Finally, after some negotiating and rearranging, Sonny was nested between us and I was back in bed. I closed my eyes and began drifting off to sleep.
That's when the ungrateful, wrinkly bastard peed on me.
Apparently, as Lord and Lady of Dogshitistan, we have founded our first settlement: Pugpissville.
I'm not exaggerating here. He was exerting so much effort to push me off the bed that he was actually grunting. And not his usual flat-snout grunt. No this was the grunt of intense labor, of putting your all into moving an object as if life or death depended on it.
In the first waves of early morning sleepiness, I didn't fully comprehend what was happening. I thought I was dreaming. Or that the Aggie was crowding me. So I went to the bathroom and returned to my spot in the bed, thinking the incident was over.
I laid on my side with my body away from Sonny the Pug. The Aggie was soundly on the other side of the bed. He wasn't within three feet of touching me. I lay my head down and immediately began drifting back off to sleep.
Then the pushing began again.
I rolled over to see Sonny staring at me, grunting mid-shove. This is not an agile creature, Internet. He is at least 12-years-old, walks stiff legged and has hip dysplasia and arthritis. When he gets in the bed with us he stays in his spot at the foot of the bed because he can't manage to walk on the squishiness of the mattresses.
Or so we thought.
Last night, not only did Sonny climb to middle of the bed, but he also pulled all the cover off of me and had gotten under it and formed a cocoon. I suppose since he'd made it that far, he just thought: "Why the hell not! While I'm at it I'll just take her spot and her pillow too."
Not to be outdone by the pug, I rolled him over toward his daddy and moved back into my area of the bed.
Finally, after some negotiating and rearranging, Sonny was nested between us and I was back in bed. I closed my eyes and began drifting off to sleep.
That's when the ungrateful, wrinkly bastard peed on me.
Apparently, as Lord and Lady of Dogshitistan, we have founded our first settlement: Pugpissville.
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