Tag Archives: dog dreams

Sleepless in the Serengeti

I love to sleep.
Curled up under soft, fluffy blankets.
Toasty warm and drifting off into a blissful wonderland of dreams.
There’s one problem – I’m not very good at it.
I’m like a cat with a sleep disorder.

Sure, I may be tired when I get into bed but as soon as my head hits the pillow, my brain lights up like Times Square. Thoughts pop into my head on jumbo-trons. I’ve got stupid stuff running through my brain like the NYSE ticker and it’s 99% pointless gibberish.

“Don’t forget to call the office to check messages….maybe I should do that now…..I have to look up that eggnog french toast recipe….I could do that now…..Should we have mimosas on Christmas morning? I like mimosas. That would be good. Do we have champagne? We’ll have to get champagne. Well I need wrapping paper. Maybe I should get that at Costco…..and I could get the champagne too. Did I shut the garage door? I should go look. I’m sure I shut it. Damn, is he sleeping already? How does he do that? Annoying. What gifts do I have left to get for Christmas? My iTouch is right here, let me just see if I can Google that eggnog french toast recipe. I need to send out the holiday cards. Well, I really need to organize my files. Should I use the computer labels or the Brother labels for the manila files? The Brother labels would be easier but the computer ones are nicer. I need to get another banker box. I could stop at the office supply store on the way to Costco. I don’t think I need to get the wrapping paper at Costco, that’ll be enough for three years. Wonder where the cats are at? I could be a cat. If I could sleep. Maybe in my next life I could be a cat. A well taken care of cat. With a fluffy coat. And diamond collar. And weekly manicures. In a house with lots of sunshine. Is he snoring? Seriously. Shut it. You’re already sleeping – now you’re just rubbing it in. Oh, here’s the cats. One cat, two cat. Yeah, everyone is in bed. Tater, giant dog we’re watching for friends, is on the floor. This is nice. I could read my book. Glad I bought the Nook – I can read in the dark. But reading would defeat the sleeping agenda. I don’t want to miss the sleep window. Maybe I could try deep breathing. (after 6 breaths) This is stupid. That lady at the grocery looked stupid in that outfit today. Should’ve snapped a photo. Mental note: put phone in pocket for quicker access. Why do people think pajama pants are acceptable outside wear? In winter? With a fake fur coat? And rain boots? With ducks on them? Ahhh, the small cat is happily purring away….she’s so sweet. I love her. I love her purr. She’s so snugly soft. She’s sleeping. She’s so cute. What the hell was that? Sounded like a lion. We don’t have lions in Alaska. Oh, the dog. He’s snoring. I swear I felt the bed rumble. Maybe that was my better half farting. If I didn’t know the dog was in the bedroom I’d swear there was another man in here. Oh big cat is sleeping now. That’s nice. She must be dreaming. Sounds like a duck quaking. Or maybe a small dog toy that squeaks when you press it. That’s what she sounds like. I should write that down. The squeaker. Seriously, better half, could you hold down the snoring? Damn. Yes, I know you’re sleeping. As soon as your head hits the pillow you’re sleeping. What’s that like? Stop. Snoring. Now. Shut It. Quiet. Shhhhh! You’re very loud. Seriously. Shut up! Where are my ear plugs?”

Before putting in my ear plugs I listen to the sounds of the bedroom:
One small cat purring contentedly.
One large cat dreaming of being a duck in another lifetime.
One homo sapien snoring like elephant with a sinus issue.
One giant dog who sounds suspiciously like a lion.
One sleepless chick whose brain activity sounds like a freight train.

Blink. Blink. Blink.
Sleepless in the Serengeti.

Reasoning with 180 Pounds.

He’s big.
He’s tan.
He’s 180 pounds.
He’s almost as tall as me.
His feet are as big as my hand.
He’s a Mastiff.
He’s currently at my feet snoring.
His name is Tater.
He’s staying with us until January 7th.

Life with a giant dog is interesting. Have you ever tried to make dinner with a dog head under your elbow? His head is about the same size as a basket ball. “Excuse me….”

When Eric goes out to snow blow in the morning, Tater sits by the front door and moans. If I pet the cats too much, Tater moans some more. Therefore, he has a new nickname of Moaning Myrtle, who was a character in Harry Potter.

Tater is also a heavy breather, when he’s not heavy snoring. This woke me up the first night. Hence his night time name of “Darth Tater.” I figured out why he’s tired during the day – Tater spends a lot of time running in his dreams. At night I can hear him, as he sleeps in our room. I don’t look over the bed, as Tater has hearing like a bat and no doubt, would wake up immediately and inquire about going outside.

I learned that lesson the first night. I was up and Tater came over and looked at me and I swear he said, “well, if you’re up would you mind opening the back door for me? Your slippers are right here.”

Fear not, as with all animals in our house, he now has his official UFC fight name. We have FeeBee “The Snuggler”, Liggy “The Kibble Snatcher” and now Tater “The Hedgehog”. He is slightly startled when we yell out his name, although he did enjoy UFC 124 with GSP and Koscheck. He too was ecstatic when GSP won.

Tater goes everywhere with me. In the morning we go to the gym. He sits in the Suburban (he comes with his own accessories). If I have a meeting downtown, he goes with me and waits in the car. Errands, especially those involving drive up windows, are the best -as we are guaranteed a handful of dog treats. As soon as we pull up Tater immediately puts his head out the window – to let them know “HEY SMALL HORSE HERE… SEND SNACKS….and not just one!”

So our first day of traveling around together, I came out of the post office and Tater had moved from the back of the Suburban to the front passenger seat. I got in and told him to get in the back and he reluctantly climbed back over the seat.

Next stop was the grocery. I come out and can spy Tater’s enormous head from multiple cars away. He’s back in the front seat. I hop in and there is no convincing him to get in back. So there we go in the Suburban, me and my giant dog, whose trying to figure out a comfortable sitting position up front.

After nearly a month’s stay with us – traveling all over, Tater is going to need a vacation when his parents come home. HA!