Is It Just Me?
Join Wimberley humorist Susan Rigby as she attempts to navigate “the small stuff.”
We hadn’t had a real rain storm in many months, until recently. The night sky began to light up like an airport runway and the thunder started rumbling. My dog Seymour started whining, circling and periodically thumping his head on the side of my bed while trying unsuccessfully to join me. I pulled him onto the bed and tucked him under the blankets, thinking that if he didn’t see the light, he’d settle down. Nope. In the dark, I could smell his chicken jerky breath and feel his little elbows digging into my chest. I massaged him and held him tight to calm him while thinking I should have brushed his teeth. I finally set him back on the floor and tried to sleep. Nope. He paced, tried going under the bed, into his crate, into a secret hiding place in another room, and finally returned to whining and thumping his head on the side of my bed.
If the doggie door had been left open, he would have run out and hidden in the most weed-infested part of the yard. Since it wasn’t, he was back on my bed, standing on my chest, nose to nose and eyeballs to eyeballs. I finally understood that he wanted my car keys. If he couldn’t escape out the doggie door, he could get to security under the car seat. If only he had my keys — and longer toes. Thankfully, his new doggie tricks didn’t include learning to use the car remote and I wasn’t about to leave the comfort of my bed to run through the downpour so he could go to the only place he thought he would feel safe.
Was I a bad doggie- momma?
Sleepless, grouchy and out of patience, I was about to toss him the car keys when the storm let up. Seymour quietly tip-toed back to his crate to sleep. All was fine in his world again. I was awake the rest of the night.
Doggie communication can be exhausting.
