Thursday, April 2, 2009

Because we need to have a word...

Hi Brewster the Dog, it's your mom. We need to have a serious discussion, k?

You're 11 1/2 years old now. I realize you're getting on in years and happen to be deaf as a doornail. I didn't know doornails were deaf but I digress...

I know from your birth until we moved to Savannah you had your own dog door so you could go in and out as you pleased and do your bathroom thing.

Now you don't have a dog door. So that entails ME, yes, ME, getting up in the middle of the night, sometimes several times, to let you out when you give me a courtesy bark. I appreciate that bark, and the fact that you would sooner have your bladder burst than go in the house. You're most definitely a good dog, no doubt.

We need to talk about last night. I heard the courtesy bark at about 1:45 a.m. I got up, opened up the door for you, and then you saw the pouring rain. You backed up and wouldn't go out. Okay, fine. Not 15 minutes later, I was back sleeping, and you barked yet again.

When I came out of my bedroom, you were laying down. I opened the door, and you got up. Ahhh, I thought, he's finally going out! Alas, you backed up yet again.

"Oh hell no, you best get your butt out there buddy," I told you. You obviously didn't think it was funny or you could tell I'm Satan's twin when I'm woken up in the middle of my slumber, because you tried to get away. We did a little dance around the living room until you probably realized it was for the best that you went outside before my head started spinning.

I love you to pieces, Brewster, but you're killing me. I like to sleep through the night, like you like to sleep through the day. Why is it that you're semi-comatose all day, to the point where I have to check to make sure you're breathing several times, but at night it's all about the drinking of the water and the peeing?

I'm glad we had this talk, my dog son. If you can't talk to your dog about this stuff, who will?

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