Dog Dreams

Whoever said
"let sleeping dogs lie"
didn't sleep with dogs.

The first thing you discover when you bring a dog onto your bed is the striking difference in weight between an alert, awake dog and a dog at rest.

Rule Number One: The deeper the sleep the heavier the dog.
Our normally compact Cockers have a completely unliftable sleeping mass. Sleep turns a 25 pound dog into a very hefty problem indeed. Most people who sleep with dogs develop spinal deformities rather than rent the heavy equipment necessary to move their snoring canines to a more appropriate part of the bed. Cunning canines steal precious space in tiny increments until they have achieved the center position on the bed - with all covers carefully tucked under them for safekeeping. The stretch and roll method is very effective in gaining territory. Less subtle tactics are sometimes preferred. My husband discovered, the hard way, that a jealous dog can worm his way between a sleeping couple and, with the proper spring action from all four legs, shove a sleeping human to the floor.
Rule Number Two: Dogs possess superhuman strength while on a bed.

As you cling to the edge of the bed, wishing you had covers, your sweet pup begins to snore at a volume you would not have thought possible. Once that quiets down, the dog dreams begin. Yipping, growling, running, kicking. Your bed becomes a battlefield and playground of canine fantasy. Arthur, king of the dog dream, had a particularly annoying, recurring dream. It started out with a bit of "sleep running", lots of eye movement and then, suddenly, a shrieking howl blasted through the night like a banshee wail. The horror of this wake-up call haunted us for years. It was particularly devastating during the years Arthur insisted on sleeping curled around our heads like a demented Daniel Boone cap. Fortunately, he has outlived his demons.
Rule Number Three: The deeper the sleep, the louder the dog.

The night creeps on and you fall asleep in the 3 inches of bed not claimed by a dog. The dog dreams quiet slightly and the heap of dogflesh sleeps - breathing heavily and passing wind. Then, too soon, it's dawn and the heap stirs. Each dog has a distinctive and unpleasant method of waking the pack. Earnest, our little gentleman, positioned himself centimeters from a face and stared until we woke. Arthur, the clever dog, obtains excellent results by simply sneezing on our faces. Tristan, our happy boy, found a romp over our sleeping bodies an invigorating way to start the day. Emma, our little princess, favors a inserting a tongue in an unsuspecting ear.
Rule Number Four: When the dog wakes - you wake.

Tristan at rest

So, why do we put up with this?
There's no sane reason.
Perhaps it's just that we're a pack
and a pack heaps together at night - safe, contented, heavy and loud.