Dogs and dreams.
I tried to sleep.
Really, I did.
Gazelle Dog insisted she had to put all her weight on one foot — while pushing it down on my throat.
It looked something like this, but not as cute, painful, and about 30 pounds heavier:
I suppose I should show you the offending dog.
Not the best picture, but she’s always on the move and it’s hard to get a good one. She will stand still on occasion…for example; when she’s stepping on my throat.
However, I’m not in the mood to grab the camera when I can’t breathe.
At the time of my brutal awakening, I was having a perfectly good nightmare about a dinosaur that looked like a dog — only it had foot long teeth and was 3 stories tall.
Now that I think back on it, the dinosaur had her face, but it wasn’t this cute:
The uncute-dino-doggie face came out of nowhere, crashing through windows and noshing on humans while I hid as I listened to their screams. And then, in a Deus ex machina moment, I found a bazooka and shot a rocket into it’s nostril, turning its brain to mush.
Not that I could hit the side of the Empire State building at 20 feet away with one of those things…in real life.
But that’s not the point.
The brutal beastie falls with an earthquake-level thud, dies in glorious spasms, and then someone says, “That thing is going to rot. We’ll have to move.”
Not a single, “Thank you for saving our lives.”
That isn’t my luck.
I get the survivors who frown at me as if I’ve just farted at their party.
Now that I want to sleep again, there’s a dog snorting on my pillow. No problem. It’s easy to lift the pillow up and roll the dog over.
I’ll leave you with a really bad dog haiku, just ’cause I can.
Cute little muttlets
sleeping upon my pillow
keep me up at night.
I told you it was bad.