Where the Wild Things Are

Yesterday’s paczki flour has settled. What happens after a sugar binge? A crash into deprivation. No better time than now to admit things aren’t always perfect overnight in Mayberry with a puppy. Something is…missing.

Raising a puppy can be surprising. Things can seem alright like a bright sunny day that turns into a cool, calm night that welcomes a zombie apocalypse. It comes out of nowhere.

One minute, I’m snuggled under covers I’ve stolen in my sleep from Stockton and the next, a terriable noise fills the air. One of our dogs in her crate whines and bark bark barks, demanding to be let out.

The peace of predawn moments in Mayberry is no more. I’m hushing the dog while experiencing the reluctance of waking up early. I stretch my legs in last-second duvet warmth before tumbling out of bed in unearthly creature movement. Arms outstretched as my eyes don’t adjust in the dark, fingers curled to avoid jams, I locate the crate door and release the terriorist.

Her tail wags with incredible zeal. She’s living the American Dream, no mortgage, a two parent household, healthy, boundless energy and all she wants is love, food, exercise. The other terriorist stays nestled under the reclaimed covers with Stockton. Older and wiser.

I yawn. No towels, need sleepy I think in the alternative universe of delirium that exists in my mind around 5am as I heel-tap down the stairs. Chris Farley probably didn’t do well without enough sleep either. I pad through the kitchen, yearning for coffee.

Stockton and I bookend terrier caretaker duties: he manages the last hour of the evening, I manage the morning shift. The puppy, however, doesn’t follow our thoughtful schedule. A full eight hours rest has been missing from my nights.

I manage to slip into shoes and put on a warm puffy coat before stumbling outside with the dog. She won’t complete her business unattended. She insists on supervision. As she sniffs around the yard, past bushes, along the fence, my bladder compels me to do a version of the pee-pee dance my niece does when she’s trying to complete an activity, dry. I wistfully think of our bathroom one wall away. But I can’t go inside yet. The dog will bark undoubtedly if left outside at this hour, poor neighbors. Poor neighbors? Poor me out here in cold in the time fit for vampires and owls.

With a jingle of her collar, the terriorist leaps up the concrete steps and reaches her front paws to me. Her eyes find mine and she seems to smile. For a moment, I forget I’m freezing and exhausted. For a moment, I’m amused.

A car speeds down the road. Moment over. We clamor back inside. Eventually, we settle on the couch. She gnaws her bone, I snuggle in the coat I’m too tired and cold to remove, trying to find my missing rest. Maybe she will sleep through the night tomorrow.

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