It was a cold winter’s night, the bed was warm and cozy, and my first dream was simply lovely. I was walking along a forested trail and the wind whispered in the branches above my head.
“Whisper. Whisper. WHINE. Whisper. Whisper. WHINE.”
The beautiful trail suddenly disappeared and my eyes opened. Weird. Why had the wind sounded like a dog? I looked at the clock beside my bed. 12:30 a.m.
I heard another WHINE, and indeed it was not the wind. I pulled the blanket back from under my chin and leaned over the edge of the bed.
“Sophie!” I blinked the sleep from my eyes and propped up on an elbow. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” I stretched out a hand to scratch her head.
“Is this an emergency?” I asked, and she looked up at me earnestly and wagged her tail. Urgent. Urgent. Urgent was the rhythm, so I rolled out of bed and threw on my sweatpants.
This was an unusual occurrence, so I took her seriously. “Did you get into something?” I asked as we made our way down the stairs and through the cold house. Was she having a sudden onset of diarrhea? Or maybe she had a urinary tract infection? I hadn’t seen any clinical indication of troubles during the previous day, but you never know.
“Brr, it’s cold!” The thermostat automatically lowered the house temperature to 60 degrees at night, which was a lovely way to lower the electricity bill IF I was all snuggled up cozy in my bed.
“Okay, hurry up girls.” I opened the door to the back yard and let both dogs out to do their business, while I went off to do my own business. When everyone was finished, I let the dogs back in and locked the door.
“Now you should be happy,” I told Sophie, and shivered my way back up to my cozy bed. End of story.
Or so I thought.
It took a while to fall asleep after being out in the chilly night air, but eventually I was happily in the middle of Dream Number Two. This one was a bit more exciting. I was driving a race car, and with every corner I gave it a little more gas.
“Squeal Squeal WHINE! Squeal! Squeal! WHINE!”
Weird. Why was my race car whining? I went to downshift the engine when a dome light went off and my eyes flew open. Sure enough, I looked over the edge of the bed and there was Sophie, staring back at me. I looked at the clock - 1:44 a.m.
“Sophie! You have GOT to be kidding me. You have to go AGAIN?” Sophie dolefully stared at me, a look she has perfected over the years and one I usually found endearing. But the night was cold, my head was tired, and cute was struggling hard not to be annoying.
I stared at her thoughtfully and she gave another little whine. I was irritated, but what else could I do? It seemed certain there was some sort of medical issue at hand. Colitis? UTI? The first time she woke me up was unusual, this second time was very uncommon and perhaps I should put on my veterinary cap now along with my sweatpants.
I checked her gums. Palpated her abdomen. Manipulated her joints. Nothing. So instead of just letting her out, this time I threw on a pair of boots and jacket and took her out on a flexi-lead. I needed to see what was actually coming out of my dog that was putting her in such urgent distress. Diarrhea? Bloody urine? Vomit?
*****
But may I pause here to point out something that dog owners may not realize if they live in Dallas, or Tampa, or any other warm weather state. There is no doubt that taking the dog out in the middle of the night is annoying. You’re tired. You’re a little crabby. But down south you can feel the gentle breeze, take a deep breath of the cool night air and tilt your head back to look at the stars.
But on a Minnesota winter night, you step outside only to slam your exposed skin against the deep freeze of Mother Nature. The snow squeaks loudly beneath your boots, and you try not to bend your legs so that the frozen fabric of your clothing doesn’t touch your skin. Breathe deeply at your own risk, because the dry frigid air will pinch your nostrils closed with a sharp pain. Eyes water. Fingers stiffen and freeze. Exposed skin begins to burn, and even if you were to TRY to look up at the stars your eyes would water and your glasses fog over from the cold.
*****
…
“Brr! Hurry up!” I barked at Sophie as she casually sniffed about in the snow. “Do what you SO urgently need to do.” But she only sniffed by the bush. Sniffed by the deck. Then hurried over to sniff beneath the bird feeders. There was nary a squat. Nary a strain. Nary a retch or a gack.
“Omigosh, Sophie,” I growled as I pulled her back inside. “I hope you did not wake me up just because you saw something like a FOX outside.” I stared at her, and she gazed innocently back up at me, softly wagging her tail.
Rabbit and deer were here nightly, but the red fox was more elusive and had that “canine-cool” that both dogs found irresistible. I stared out into the dark yard, then stooped and peered into Sophie’s brown eyes. Diarrhea vs Fox? Urinary Tract Infection vs Opossum? Medical vs Nature? I lifted her gums, pushed on her abdomen, and decided that Mother Nature was the likely winner. I crossed the room to the thermostat, pushed the temperature button up to 62 degrees because, well, this was ANNOYING and the house was COLD and I was TIRED. One more glance at both dogs lying serenely on their dog beds. “NO MORE,” I growled at Sophie, and climbed the stairs to my warm bed.
It took me forty-seven minutes to fall asleep. Forty -seven minutes of wondering why was Sophie waking me up? Was it truly because of a fox or opossum? Or that CAT? I had seen a small tabby in the yard last week, and if it was still around I should set the live trap because it was too cold for a cat to be outside. Six minutes out of the forty-seven went to debating whether to get out of bed to write myself a note about setting the live trap, but the room was SO cold and my little notebook had gotten moved from the nightstand to the dresser and that was SO far away. I plumped my pillow and willed myself to go to sleep. Go to sleep. You work in the morning so go to sleep.
Finally I floated off to La-La Land, and eventually floundered into Dream Number Three. I was in a classroom. The teacher was at the front of the room and the chalk was making an ungodly sound.
“Screeeech! Skriiitch! WHINE!”
My eyes flew open and I sat up. The clock blinked accusingly at me.4:16 a.m.
“SOPHIE! You have absolutely GOT to be KIDDING me!!”
Sophie stared dolefully up at me from beside the bed and waved her tail almost apologetically, like a white flag on the battlefield.
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared back at her. What could be going on? This was crazy. She NEVER did this. There must be a gas leak. A smoldering fire. A sparking fuse box. I thought of the old television show where the collie alerted everyone that Timmy had fallen in the well.
“Are you Lassie?” I asked her, and she simply stared back at me, still wagging her tail but only at the tip.
I sighed, got dressed (AGAIN) and went downstairs (AGAIN). This time I walked all around the house, sniffing the air like Smokey the Bear after finding a camper’s half full cup of espresso. Sniff. Sniff. SNIFF!! Sniff. Sniff. SNIFF! Obviously there was something seriously wrong because my DOG kept waking me UP! I peered into every corner and, when I went past the thermostat, I turned it up to 64 degrees. I took a step, then went back. No, 66 degrees. No, by golly, I am turning this thing up to 68 DEGREES because my alarm was going off in less than twenty minutes and I was freezing.
“Okay, where is the PROBLEM?” I stared at Sophie, but she and Ellie simply curled up on their beds and watched me go sniffing past. I checked the garage for a smoking pile of rags. Ran my finger down the fuse box to feel for heat. Stooped over and stared into the flames of the furnace.
Nothing was amiss. Nothing. Nothing at all.
I went back and once again stood in front of Sophie. She wagged the end of her tail and looked annoyingly endearing.
“Everything seems just FINE, Sophie,” It wasn’t a snarl but certainly was not my normal tone with her. “I cannot find Timmy. I cannot find even a HINT of some godforsaken well. If you are trying to be a Lassie dog, then you need to get out of that bed right now and help me.”
Nothing.
“If, on the other hand, you have been waking me up ALL NIGHT due to unusual animal activity in the yard, then you had better learn how to cross your legs and hold it because I am not doing another night like this ever again for an ANIMAL. And, if this has been an actual medical emergency, you will need to either get better at showing more overt signs of distress or call 911 because I am SO DONE with you right now.”
Slight wag of tail, then nothing.
I sighed but, just to be sure, I took her outside AGAIN but there was only one casual squat to pee and then lots of happy sniffing. And that was it. No medical urgency. No burglar in the yard. No lifesaving, heroic dog story to send into the local news sources.
Back inside, Sophie stared up at me, passive, serene. If dogs could smoke weed and hang out on a beach, Sophie would be that dog. I had no idea what was going on in that mind of hers tonight, but I had to get up to go to work in…five minutes.
“Great,” I told her. “Just great. Thanks to you and your whiney wake up calls I've had a wonderful night of sleep.” If dogs were good at catching sarcasm, Sophie didn’t give any indication. I put the coffee on and turned on the morning news. Both dogs instantly trotted over, hoping for breakfast.
“No. You don’t deserve to eat ever again.”
More staring. And tail wagging.
“Okay, FINE. I’ll feed you. But Sophie, as a Lassie-loser, fake-fox-finder, whiney-but-asymptomatic dog, the only way to redeem yourself this morning is to go bring me another cup of coffee."
Or I guess you can just wag your tail and look adorable. That works too.