It was the strangest dinner party ever. The next door neighbors were there and another couple I did not know. The next door neighbor’s wife had this strange accent and she was making all of these decorating suggestions that turned into demands. Suddenly two worker guys appeared on the scene to begin ripping the shelves off the wall I had installed just weeks before. Other items were also summarily removed from the walls. And what’s that noise (aside form the demolition) click, click, click. Now the lights are flickering?
A hazy blackness descends and the flickering becomes ever present with cracks of thunder intermixed and that click, click, click . . . A brief quiet and then the unmistakable sound of a Miniature Schnauzer pushing off on his hind legs and bringing his front legs to their fullest extension before his paws come to rest just on the edge of the bed mere inches from my face. Having failed to rouse David after clicking his nails along the hard wood floor as he walked over to David’s side of the bed, Laddie has come to me.
It is 4:30 AM. He has brought me from the depths of slumber. Tearing me from an arguably interesting dream. I have no neighbors with foreign accents and I am not aware of any of them being decorators or part of a demo crew. It makes you wonder, from where on earth did that nocturnal tale spring?
But there is an insistent canine pawing the bedding; demanding that I wake up fully and cater to his lately developed fear of thunder storms. Did I mention that it is 4:30 in the morning? There is no catering to irrational dog phobias at 4:30 in the morning. After twice physically placing said canine back in his bed and telling him to stay, which also failed twice, I rallied for attempt number three and my efforts met with success. Forty-five minutes later and I am finally back asleep.
Nope. Now there is a mournful meow that travels throughout the house. It’s 5:15 in the morning. Yes, I even have a cat, two actually. David refers to them as savages. Well earned nick names considering the critters they have dumped on my front stoop and more often than not bring into the house. Obviously Newt’s hunting and prowling skills were interrupted by the passing weather system and he has decided to wake me up to right this situation. Um, it’s 5:15 in the morning. Meow, meow, and two or three more times of that. I relocate my pillow over my head . . . quiet.
I try to drift back to sleep. Toss, turn. Another forty-five minutes, almost . . . asleep . . . wait. What is that noise? It’s the alarm. It’s 6:00 AM and it’s time to get up and start the day.