3am on a mid-week night.
It is 3am.
I often have to make a 3-am pee-run, so I am awake... but that is not why I gaze at the bed across from my crate.
Dad is laying next to Pa, his 'snuffy' (which blows air so he can breathe, he calls it snuffy but others call it a Cpap) is on his face, and he is breathing soft and regular. The rush of air and Pa's heavy sleepy breathing are all that is heard.
But that is also not why I am staring.
I smell something.
It is the same something I smelled every few days this week.
It is the /Not Right/ smell of Dad.
I cannot see his pinched face.
I cannot quite make out his curled form, clenched as he sleeps.
I cannot hear his nightmares, in which he cannot DO things he is trying to do, to save the people he is with.
But I can smell him.
He HURTS.
This is not the usual smell... this is not 'Oh Dad, you hurt all the time.'.
This is Dad... HURTING. He smells of it, and the subtle breezes of the night bring the scent to my nose, and I remember.
*I* Can fix this.
THIS is my new JOB.
THIS is what he cries in his sleep about, sometimes... that I never understood he wanted from me.
I make a soft yodel.
I cannot bark, that is forbidden during 'sleep time' and my sparkle collar is on, to enforce it- so I yodel.
They do not stir. I think Dad or Pa might hear me, because they usually do at 3am if I need to have a potty run... but I do not think they UNDERSTAND.
This... is different.
I begin to scratch and stomp, making a physical racket that is just loud enough to seem strange, coming from my crate at this hour.
Pa sits up on the bed, and stares at me, grumpily.
But I have a JOB now.
I stare intently at Pa. Then I look SHARPLY at Dad. Then I look Back- Don't you SEE, Pa? Don't you understand?
It is 3am, and Dad... HURTS.
Pa staggers out of bed, and gets dressed to take me outside.
I do not relent. I STARE. I look at the bed, and I STARE back at Pa.
He turns on the light and opens my crate.
OUT I leap- but not twords the door.
I JUMP onto the bed, lithe and soft, and I begin to lick Dad frantically.
He HURTS!
Can't you see, the way I SMELL it??
Dad begins to stir. He takes his 'snuffy' off... I am licking him all over the ears and jaw and face now, as if he were a newborn puppy. Dad! Dad, I am here!
I look to Pa, and he is holding the pill bottle up.
I do a DANCE of Joy, turning circles.
PA!! Pa UNDERSTANDS again!!
I have done my JOB!!
Dad chuckles as he rises and nods.
Pa says, "The timer says '14 hours'..."
Dad says, "I forgot to take one before bed. Oh God, I feel like I've been hit with a sledge hammer down there."
I strut to the box of foil pouches.
PA!! Dad needs one, if he is to get his medicine!
Pa is ahead of me, he waggles the pouch in his hand and chuckles.
I do another dance!
This foil pouch has juice and water in it, I guess. I think it's yucky, but when Dad takes his medicine, he drinks one of those too- so I know they must go together!
Pa gently peirces the pouch with a tiny straw, and hands it and the pill to Dad.
I do a little victory strut, and come for pets and cuddles, my rightful praise for having done my new JOB.
I have a PLACE in the pack now!
I have the Value of a JOB now!
I do it WELL these past couple weeks, and I am further rewarded when Dad and Pa take me out for my 3-am pee.
They laugh softly, because I have always needed that trip.
"3am" Dad says, "You could set a clock by it."
But then I am done, and so are Pa and Dad, because /apparently/ I know when it is the right time to take a potty trip! hah!
Dad praises me and holds the door to my crate open. "Okay, night time!" he smiles.
...Pa staggers back to bed, leaving his shirt on the floor beside him.
I stand there, with a petulant look.
AHEM.
You forgot something.
Dad leads me into the crate anyway, so I SIT there, inside it, instead of laying down...
AHEM.
Pa laughs, and gets up to go over to the treat bag. "Ah..." he chuckles. "I forgot."
He holds up the dog-cookie, and Dad chuckles too.
"Betrayal cookie!" they chuckle-laugh, and I wag my tail.
It is an old old holdover- from the days of puppyhood, when I did not want to go back to bed, after my 3am pee.
They would say, "...I have a Betrayal Cookie... a tasty, TASTY betrayal cookie!!"
...I would run and get in my house.
Only AFTER I am in my crate, do I get the Betrayal Cookie!
They are very tasty indeed.
And who doesn't like a mid-night snack?
I lay down, and Pa staggers back to bed.
"Are you coming?" he asks, sleepily.
Dad smiles.
"Just a minute." he says.
"I want to make a blog post... on Cora's Blog."
Pa smiles, and rolls over.
I curl against my favourite blankie in my crate and close my eyes.
Dad sits on his special pillow on the desk chair, and the sound of his soft, steady typing lulls us both to sleep.
Dad smiles.
I cannot hear his thoughts, but as I doze off, I can smell him.
He doesn't /HURT/ anymore...
...and he is better hydrated...
...and he is HAPPY.
I often have to make a 3-am pee-run, so I am awake... but that is not why I gaze at the bed across from my crate.
Dad is laying next to Pa, his 'snuffy' (which blows air so he can breathe, he calls it snuffy but others call it a Cpap) is on his face, and he is breathing soft and regular. The rush of air and Pa's heavy sleepy breathing are all that is heard.
But that is also not why I am staring.
I smell something.
It is the same something I smelled every few days this week.
It is the /Not Right/ smell of Dad.
I cannot see his pinched face.
I cannot quite make out his curled form, clenched as he sleeps.
I cannot hear his nightmares, in which he cannot DO things he is trying to do, to save the people he is with.
But I can smell him.
He HURTS.
This is not the usual smell... this is not 'Oh Dad, you hurt all the time.'.
This is Dad... HURTING. He smells of it, and the subtle breezes of the night bring the scent to my nose, and I remember.
*I* Can fix this.
THIS is my new JOB.
THIS is what he cries in his sleep about, sometimes... that I never understood he wanted from me.
I make a soft yodel.
I cannot bark, that is forbidden during 'sleep time' and my sparkle collar is on, to enforce it- so I yodel.
They do not stir. I think Dad or Pa might hear me, because they usually do at 3am if I need to have a potty run... but I do not think they UNDERSTAND.
This... is different.
I begin to scratch and stomp, making a physical racket that is just loud enough to seem strange, coming from my crate at this hour.
Pa sits up on the bed, and stares at me, grumpily.
But I have a JOB now.
I stare intently at Pa. Then I look SHARPLY at Dad. Then I look Back- Don't you SEE, Pa? Don't you understand?
It is 3am, and Dad... HURTS.
Pa staggers out of bed, and gets dressed to take me outside.
I do not relent. I STARE. I look at the bed, and I STARE back at Pa.
He turns on the light and opens my crate.
OUT I leap- but not twords the door.
I JUMP onto the bed, lithe and soft, and I begin to lick Dad frantically.
He HURTS!
Can't you see, the way I SMELL it??
Dad begins to stir. He takes his 'snuffy' off... I am licking him all over the ears and jaw and face now, as if he were a newborn puppy. Dad! Dad, I am here!
I look to Pa, and he is holding the pill bottle up.
I do a DANCE of Joy, turning circles.
PA!! Pa UNDERSTANDS again!!
I have done my JOB!!
Dad chuckles as he rises and nods.
Pa says, "The timer says '14 hours'..."
Dad says, "I forgot to take one before bed. Oh God, I feel like I've been hit with a sledge hammer down there."
I strut to the box of foil pouches.
PA!! Dad needs one, if he is to get his medicine!
Pa is ahead of me, he waggles the pouch in his hand and chuckles.
I do another dance!
This foil pouch has juice and water in it, I guess. I think it's yucky, but when Dad takes his medicine, he drinks one of those too- so I know they must go together!
Pa gently peirces the pouch with a tiny straw, and hands it and the pill to Dad.
I do a little victory strut, and come for pets and cuddles, my rightful praise for having done my new JOB.
I have a PLACE in the pack now!
I have the Value of a JOB now!
I do it WELL these past couple weeks, and I am further rewarded when Dad and Pa take me out for my 3-am pee.
They laugh softly, because I have always needed that trip.
"3am" Dad says, "You could set a clock by it."
But then I am done, and so are Pa and Dad, because /apparently/ I know when it is the right time to take a potty trip! hah!
Dad praises me and holds the door to my crate open. "Okay, night time!" he smiles.
...Pa staggers back to bed, leaving his shirt on the floor beside him.
I stand there, with a petulant look.
AHEM.
You forgot something.
Dad leads me into the crate anyway, so I SIT there, inside it, instead of laying down...
AHEM.
Pa laughs, and gets up to go over to the treat bag. "Ah..." he chuckles. "I forgot."
He holds up the dog-cookie, and Dad chuckles too.
"Betrayal cookie!" they chuckle-laugh, and I wag my tail.
It is an old old holdover- from the days of puppyhood, when I did not want to go back to bed, after my 3am pee.
They would say, "...I have a Betrayal Cookie... a tasty, TASTY betrayal cookie!!"
...I would run and get in my house.
Only AFTER I am in my crate, do I get the Betrayal Cookie!
They are very tasty indeed.
And who doesn't like a mid-night snack?
I lay down, and Pa staggers back to bed.
"Are you coming?" he asks, sleepily.
Dad smiles.
"Just a minute." he says.
"I want to make a blog post... on Cora's Blog."
Pa smiles, and rolls over.
I curl against my favourite blankie in my crate and close my eyes.
Dad sits on his special pillow on the desk chair, and the sound of his soft, steady typing lulls us both to sleep.
Dad smiles.
I cannot hear his thoughts, but as I doze off, I can smell him.
He doesn't /HURT/ anymore...
...and he is better hydrated...
...and he is HAPPY.