So I sleep with dogs. (You got a problem with that?) Actually that should be “dog,” singular, a particularly cantankerous Beagle-Terrier mutt named Swishy. Although in my head I think “dogs,” plural, because Swish is not the first dog I’ve ever slept with, and probably not the last. (Note I am not being “metaphorical.”) One mutt I slept with back in the Seventies was named Mozart. (I still miss him.) But why? It’s therapy. Who wouldn’t like a furry, warm, supremely loyal beast sleeping beside them in the night? One who would bark at and frighten any intruders? (Even though I can’t say I’m worried about intruders interrupting my sleep, but still.) There’s a kind of Zen calm you experience when waking in the middle of the night (like last night, when our house was shaken by tremendous mountain winds) and reaching over to pat your snoozing mutt. I pat her back, feel her furry ribcage, scratch her belly. Now Swish is an easy fit in bed: She weighs a little over twenty pounds and is on the Small side of a Medium. It is true, however, that if I nudge her accidentally with my foot at any time in the night she will growl or yelp out of all proportion with my gentle nudge. But . . . what can you do? A true dog lover doesn’t flinch at an occasional growl. Or quibble about size and poundage. I visited a friend in Austin, Texas a few years back and his guest room was his dogs’ room. So I had two oversized furry mutts, Luke & Tazz, as my bed companions. They were both long-haired beasts and it was shedding season. I was covered in so much fur in the morning I was an Honorary Dog. Here’s a photo of the Most Loyal Dog in the World (which is, like, every dog owner’s dog):
