Sleep, Redux

I don’t want to jinx anything by writing it down, but since the beginning of January, sleep habits have really changed for the better at Bulldogge Manor.  Mostly.  As I think I mentioned here before, Sean and I attended a sleep training class at our local Breastfeeding Resource Center, and it was both informative and interesting.  The class was on Tuesday the 7th, and the teacher recommended that sleep training start on a Thursday (basically so that you are tired on a Friday, but then are hopefully nearing the end by the following Monday), and since we wanted to get our sleep training plan hashed out, we waited until the 16^th to begin.  Well either Owen knew something was up, or we happened to catch him right at the time he was ready to sleep better anyway, because in the nine days in between the class and when the training officially started, Owen basically sleep trained himself.

He stopped wanting to be in our bed, and after each nursing session would want to get back in his crib.  He also woke up less in general, too.  So on the first day of sleep training he woke up and cried from 10:45 – 12:15, with us going in as we were supposed to, first every 5, then 10, then 15 then 20 minutes and doing nothing but giving him an empathetic pat on the back and some kind words (which enraged him).  Then at 12:15 he went to sleep and slept until 5:30.  He then proceeded to basically sleep from 7:15 – 5:15 every day since.

We have had a few interruptions—once caused by the cold he had, and then the second time by our loss of electricity and ensuing freezing night plus a night in a hotel – but in general he always seems happy to return to sleeping in his own crib.  Every once in a while he’ll awake at 3, say, and cry, and one of us will go in and pick him up and give him some comfort, and after a few minutes he will dive back into the crib.  So at the moment, dare I say, his sleep is good.

Of course, it would be nice if he could sleep into the sixes instead of the fives, especially when he wakes up at 5:05.  But still!  After 18 months of waking up every two hours with him, and then the last six months of having at least once per night of him being up for an hour not being able to fall back asleep, this seems like a luxury.  I’m basically sleeping 7 hours in a row!  It is quite divine.

At the moment Owen is going through a short nap phase of only 45 minutes or so.  But really, who cares?!  He is sleeping well through the night.

I’m wondering though if one can sleep train a bulldogge.  Now that Owen is gone from my side of the bed, Dorothy has joined me there and when she sleeps, she is definitely a Velcro dog to the extreme.  I will often wake up and not be sure which limbs are mine and which are Dorothy’s, and really, there IS such a thing as too much togetherness.  Not to mention her loud snoring.

Dorothy thinking, I finally got my place back.

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?

Dorothy Is A Diva. Still.

In case you haven't noticed, Dorothy is a diva.  And as are all divas, she is very demanding.  She thinks she should get full attention whenever she requires it, and sulks when attention is not forthcoming.

Here she is angry at me for trying to read instead of playing with her.  She is sending waves of sulk in my direction:

Dorothy thinking, Mom is mean.

And on Sunday, when I was reading the paper in the morning as I always do, she spent a good two hours somewhat successfully engaging me in games of tug of war, and then resisting the nap that she so clearly needed:

Dorothy thinking, I do NOT need a nap.  My eyes are wide open:

In A Couch Potato State

It is always a good day for me when I get home from work and Sean has already been there for a few hours tiring out the pets.  Instead of being greeted by three beasts who have been napping for hours and stand at the door ready to rumble, my entrance into the apartment does not even merit a head lifting off the bed.  I first see:

Dorothy lying half in half out of her bed, panting.

Dorothy thinking:  only disturb me if it is time for kibble.

Plum conked out in the dog crate.

It's exhausting watching man and dogge wrestle:

 

And Posy, who was snoozing under her lamp before I got out the camera, and then when the lens was aimed at her immediately started cleaning her wee person so as not to disappoint her granny:

Granny, I am always industriously cleaning--

don't believe a word she says.

 

It is definitely a desirable state of affairs, and one that guarantees me at least a modicum of leisure time.

I Don't Like Mondays

One of us is not too fond of getting up at 6:30, especially on a Monday:

Would Miss like breakfast in bed?

Bulldogge By-Laws: The Heating Vent

Every once in a while Dorothy starts feeling erudite and will thumb through the Bulldogge By-Laws.  Of course she also likes to make sure that All Is As It Ought and that she is receiving her due.  The other day found her fixated on a passage regarding the heating vents in our living room.  Dorothy was convinced that it said somewhere in the By-Laws that Bulldogges get first dibs on all heating vents, and that if a Bulldogge wants to warm herself on a vent, and a small cat is already there…well then the cat needs to move, plain and simple.

The problem is that Posy does not believe she falls under the jurisdiction of said Bulldogge By-Laws.  And so then this happens:

Dorothy complaining:  it says so in the book, yet still she will not move!

Sometimes they will share the vent, although when this happens, Dorothy will cry every few minutes or so to let me know that Posy has more than her share and by the way life is hard.

After a few minutes of whining, Posy will decide the warmth isn’t worth it and move.  But she does so professing that she is by no means accepting the jurisdiction of those By-Laws.  Exotic Shorthairs, she proclaims, have no unwieldy book of rules.  Rather, they follow one edict which one does not even have to store on a Kindle.  That edict is:  Whatever I am doing is the right thing to do.

Words to live by, from yours truly, Posy Fern.

And Plum’s contribution to this entry is that heating vents may be warm, but they will not scratch your belly.

One Dog Night

The temperature has been falling in Philadelphia, and I admit to being very glad that Dorothy is in the bed at night. 

The pros for her being there are that she is a little bulldogge furnace and generates a lot of heat.  Plus she likes to spoon.  The cons are that she tends to like to share my side of the bed, and in the morning she likes to hit me with her heavy meathook front arms.  I also tend to wake up with a faceful of paw.  There’s also the snoring, although I really don’t notice that so much anymore.

I’m also happy to say that Dorothy has now reached the age where she is happy to sleep in.  In fact, on weekdays, I tend to have to drag her out of bed once I am already up and dressed.  Here is Dorothy, reluctant to get up on a Monday:

Of course, to be accurate, the title of this entry should really read One Dog and Two Cats Night, for when it is this cold both cats are apt to be in the bed too.  Plum is either where your feet want to be or where your head needs to be:

And Posy is under the covers, so I couldn’t get a picture.  However, she is not under just any covers, mind you.  She is under the first blanket and on top of the second.  Any other configuration just won’t do, and she'll let me know this by repeatedly plucking the covers right by my ear until I lift the correct ones.

Newsflash!

Bulldogges snore.

Ho hum, you say, we already knew this.  But if that is your reaction, I don't think you understand just how LOUD Dorothy's snore is.  I'm sure that many evenings, people in the Poconos think they are about to be besieged by a strange early winter thunder storm.  But it isn't thunder!  It's Dorothy Hyacinth snoring down in Philly.

I had a pug in my bed for seventeen years, so I thought I knew from snoring.

But it turns out pug snoring and bulldogge snoring are two different things:  a pug snore is a merry little whistle, with perhaps the occasional snort, snuffle and grunt.  Dorothy's snore is so loud I swear if my bedroom were bigger, her snore would be enough to propel the bed from one side of the room to the other.

Her snore goes down a few decibels when her head isn't on a pillow, so on occasion I will rotate her counter-clockwise so that her head is level with her body.  This buys me a few minutes to fall asleep myself, before the lawn mower honk-shu starts up again.

I'm on the verge of trying to plaster Dorothy's snout with some breathe-right strips.  I'll let you know if they work.

Dorothy thinking: I don't snore in your ear; I whisper sweet nothings.

Venus on the Half Shell

While up in Maine this summer, Dorothy colonized one of her Aunt Nellie's beds:

As you can see, the bed is shaped kind of like a clam or oyster shell, and the dog is meant to lie in it, as, say, the pearl.  Nellie, who inherited the bed from two pug nephews, would occasionally lie ON the bed, but the only time she ever went IN it was on a day that was over 95 degrees, and thus not one that would seem to require the added warmth of a snuggly bed. (But Nellie is a Tibetan Terrier, and they do things differently in Tibet.)

Dorothy right away seemed to understand how the bed worked.  She would flip the top up deftly with her snout, and slip inside, turn around, and then lie with her head facing out.  She became so fond of it that when we were racing Hurricane Ilene to Philadelphia at the end of our vacation, the bed was tucked into the trunk with the rest of our belongings.

And Dorothy is still very fond of the bed.  It is now her lair--and thus a place to which she brings her favorite found treasures, such as brassieres:

Plum and Posy both made the mistake of trying to lie in the bed, only to discover that if you are in the depths of the bed, and a bulldogge joins you, then you are trapped in the bed and have to claw and hiss your way out.  Which is undignified and not fun.

So Posy has come up with another way to enjoy the half shell--she has made herself a comfortable nest on the upper deck, so if need be she can make a hasty getaway:

Apparently, what is good enough for the goose,

is good for the gander:

Bulldogge Underbite

There is not much in this world better than a bulldogge's underbite.  As evidenced:

I rest my case.

Good Fences Make Good Neighbors

When I thought that Dorothy might have to spend a few days in her crate wearing the cone of shame, I took the partition out of her crate to make it larger.  As it turns out, however, Dorothy was not even remotely interested in her stitches or her surgery site, so she ended up only wearing the cone of shame for one night.

I have yet to put Dorothy's crate partition back in.  For one thing, she has had a growth spurt lately, so when she stretches out, she really does take up the whole crate.  But I've also discovered that with the partition out, I can put her favorite bed in the back of the crate, with her quilt from her Aunt Elsie and a few toys in the front of the crate--we call that area her "front porch."  So she now has a nice cuddly bed in there for snuggling in, and then a nice front porch area for storage and for stretching out in (if it turns out it's for piddling in, I'm putting the partition back in stat....)

But now that the crate is all nice and roomy, complete with handmade quilt, Sir Plum has decided that it is a worthy place for him to spend an evening, and indeed a whole night.

Plum, looking a wee bit sheepish:

Despite harboring some initial reservations about the spot, after spending a few nights there, Plum decided that he Liked It Very Much Indeed.  So one evening when I returned from running errands and opened Dorothy's crate to let her out, Dorothy made the critical error of not exiting from her crate immediately.  For while she was still dawdling in her bed, Plum decided to settle down into his spot on the crate's front porch.  Which brings us to:

I call this picture, Guess Who's Stuck?

Plum's eyes are closed, and he's all comfy on the quilt.  How peaceful, you might think!  How sweet!  But Dorothy soon decided that she would prefer to snooze on the couch.  Instead of just standing up and leaping out the door of the crate, though, she let her nerves get the best of her and sat hemming and hawing in the bed, giving Plum time to stretch out his paw and hold it all ready, talons primed for some slapping.  Dorothy moved forward an inch, Plum air slapped in front of her nose!  Dorothy began to move--oh! air slap!  Dorothy sat back down.  She stood up--air slap, air slap, hair away from snout slap! Dorothy sat back down.

Finally I came to her rescue and pulled her out while blocking Plum's punches.  I'm not sure what the moral of this story is, although I feel it has one somewhere.  Don't let Purple Sirs nap on your front porch?  When your mother opens the door of your crate, exit the crate immediately and give her a proper greeting?  Invest in a bulldogge-size suit of armor?  Hmmm, I think the second one has a nice ring to it.

Some Pig

I almost hesitate to write this since I don’t want to jinx myself, but my apartment has surprisingly little going on in the way of insect life.  The occasional fly makes its way in and then is promptly dispatched by my stellar bug-hunter, Miss Posy Fern.

Does she look like a killer?  No?  That’s part of her strategy.

I tend to get divebombed by one or two mosquitoes per summer, but that is pretty much it.  No ants, no spiders, and nothing remotely roach-like.  (Again, knock on wood!)

In actuality, I suspect that the lack of bug-life in my apartment is due to the fact that I cohabit with a multi-legged monster.  And I’m not talking about my dog or cats this time.  There is a centipede-ish kind of thing that will appear on my wall about 4 times per year.  And when he appears, I do absolutely nothing, because this “centipede” is the size of a Chihuahua.  No joke.  It is way too big to kill.  It is so large I feel one of these days the city is going to fine me for not giving it a collar with a license.  It’s got to be at least half a foot long with uncountable amounts of legs and feet.  And it is FAST.  But I rarely see the beast.  He makes an appearance a few times a year, and once he leaves I’m never quite sure he was even there.  He’s like the loch ness monster:  let’s call him the apt spruce monster.  I don’t know where he comes from or where he goes to, and I don’t want to know.  But I have a hunch that anything remotely insect-like that comes anywhere near my abode is soon a fine haggis in the belly of Apt Sprucie.

This, however, is all a digression.  I was just thinking about insects, because I was wondering how a wee bug would feel if they climbed up Mount Bedspread and found themselves face to face with this:

Or this:

And if it was a bug who could fly, say, it might make a hasty getaway, only looking back once in horror to see the sight from a different perspective:

It is no wonder that almost nary a spider or insect is making its way hither.