Monday, February 4, 2013

Bed Bully

Since Dorothy was a small puppy, she has been a bed bulldogge.  At first I figured that since I was at work from 9-5 and Dorothy was in her crate during that time, we needed the pack time together at night.  Plus, who am I kidding, I liked her warm snuggly self in bed.

But when it comes right down to it, although she doesn't mean to be, Dorothy is a bed bully bully.  By which I mean, she does not lie inconspicuously at the foot of the bed, and radiate her warmth to our cold feet, but rather she will lie horizontally between us, snore like a foghorn, continually go in and out of the covers, get us in various cover locks by going under some of the covers but on top of others, lick her paws and privates loudly, scratch her ears so that the whole bed shakes, and spoon a little too close.  I wake up sometimes and don't know which limbs are mine and which limbs are Dorothy's -- and that is just too much togetherness.

So I would really like to have Dorothy move from our bed to a nice bed right next to ours, but this is easier said than done.  We decided this once before when I was still in my apartment in Philly, and for two or so nights she was perfectly happy in her bed next to ours.  However, by the third night this separate but equal sleeping had lost its luster, and Dorothy spent most of that night sitting two inches from Sean's head, occasionally letting out a high pitched cry and the rest of the time just staring at him and giving him the creeps.  So back in the bed came Dorothy.

Sean is made of sterner stuff than I am; he would, I think, be fine with just having her sleep in her own bed cold turkey the end.  But I remain convinced that we need some kind of transition, so that Dorothy doesn't see the separation as a punishment.  Unfortunately, though, I'm not sure what form this transition should take.

The other day I got a nice dog bed on sale and when it arrived, Dorothy tried it out downstairs:

It looks comfy, no?  Well, we brought it upstairs, but then Plum was moseying around it looking like he was about to mark it, so we put it into my closet, where it has remained ever since and where we often find Posy sleeping smack in the middle of it all night, her little nose a-whistlin' and plenty of room for her to stretch out.

One of these days I hope to get a backbone, or at least become a little more skilled with my dog training.  I know one of the problems is that I tend to over-anthropomorphize.  If I pick up a piece of bruised fruit at Whole Foods, for example, I end up buying it so as not to hurt its feelings.  I have to use my coffee mugs in order so as not to annoy one by playing favorites, and when I discard something, like an article of clothing I no longer wear, say, I have to thank it for its service.  I know, I'm a nut.  But my point is that these are inanimate objects I feel sorry for.  Imagine my feelings upon looking into the woebegone eyes of a smart bulldogge who knows how to play me.

And so I look forward to the day in the future when Dorothy might decide to join Owen in his bed.  It could happen, right?

No comments: