By Patsy R. Brumfield/NEMS Daily Journal
How does a small dog, 20 pounds tops, manage to outmaneuver a much larger, sleeping woman night after night?
I think this question is a bit like the one I posed months ago about how a shirt in the washing machine winds up inside-out.
Of course, Grandpup Bonnie sleeps with Nana. How could it be otherwise?
Every night we get ourselves comfortable – the comparatively tres grande moi just where I want to be, center-mattress, with Miss B curled up near my left shoulder or side, snoring away. Of course, I too may be snoring but I don’t know it because I’m asleep.
And so it goes, night after night.
Morning after morning, I find that I’ve been “moved” to just a sliver of the queen-size with the pup taking over the rest of the sleeping arena.
It would be one thing, if she were a Great Dane. In that case, the hound would be on the floor or somewhere else suitable.
But you wouldn’t think a Cavalier King Charles spaniel could create such a moving wedge that she could get me nearly evicted from my own bed.
After no small amount of thought on the subject, I’ve determined that, just to keep up with dog-moves in the dark, I must start out my respite reasonably far to the left of center so that I’m ahead of the game. Perhaps, if so, I will wake up with reasonable room left by morning.
Bonnie, ever the clever one, also has developed a method to inform me in the middle of the night that she’d like to get down for water or, heaven-forbid, need to go outside.
She awakens me by sitting on my feet, which of course, is likely to wake up almost anybody.
As you can tell, Bonnie and I are having a fine old time while her “mom,” my daughter, tries to figure out how Miss B will work out with her in the Big City. I am content, however, to maintain the status quo for whatever is required.
If only she could be taught to garden, the arrangement would be perfect.
As it is, for her to come hang out as I wander the yard in pursuit of work in the flower or vegetable beds, Bonnie must content herself to be comfortable with her leash attached to one of the car side mirrors.
I don’t quite trust her without a tether.
Chiefly, it’s not that she misbehaves. Quite the contrary. But she becomes easily distracted and, for now at least, she prefers to chase flying bugs, birds and squirrels in the deep hope, I am sure, that she catch one.
Each time she tries, I advise her in a very grandmotherly tone that she wouldn’t know what to do with a bird or squirrel, if she caught it – and that bugs can’t always be counted upon to be nice prey.
For now, she’s just going to have to amuse herself in the driveway where she has just enough sense to locate the shady side of my vehicle.
And I must continue my sleep-room strategies. I’m too old and fragile to be pushed out by a canine house guest.
Patsy R. Brumfield writes a Thursday column for the Daily Journal. Contact her at (662) 678-1596.