Curse You Reader's Digest!

The little white dog sleeps with us.

The first few months we boasted to all how she didn't sleep with us, she was crate trained and we were in control. She, the dog, let us think that for a few months before she showed us who was really boss. Her.

Every night when it's bedtime, she comes over to the bed and stands there waiting for the human elevator to come and lift her up to her sleeping quarters. Her snuggle time is limited to how long she deems it necessary to placate us before she trots off to the nether regions of the bed to settle in for the night. If additional snuggle time is bestowed on us, it's due to a) it's cold or b) she's scared.

Last night she was scared at 1:16 AM.

She jangled her collar until I woke up, scratching her neck with her backside in my face until I woke up. Lovely.

Why is she here? It's not cold. Then I heard it.

shuffle shuffle ...slap

What?

I looked around and didn't see anything. It was dark so no surprise there. I start to drift off, shuffle shuffle... slap slap

I sit up. What was THAT??? I get up and look on the deck - it's dark out there. Maybe a possum? I turn on the light expecting to hear something squeal and run off. Nothing. I go back to bed. The white dog is looking at me. "Well?" I look at her thinking fine time to have a Maltese. Where's a German Shepherd when you need one.

Shuffle shuffle...slap

All I can think about is every True Life Drama I have ever read in Reader's Digest. Remember those? The stories of wild animals attacking families as they sleep in their beach house, kids getting kidnapped, mad sea turtles going on a rampage. All the weird whacko stories of unconceivable things happening to unsuspecting people.

So I get up and check out the house...

Why am I checking out the house and not the hubby you ask? Waking the dead is easier.

You have to convince him that getting up is important, and necessary. Not gonna happen. A maniacal killer could be coming at him with a knife screaming "Cowabunga!!!" and he would barely stir until after the first blows. Well unless you get romantic, he wakes up for that. I weigh my choices and decide that the level of terror is not quite high enough for me to wake him up just yet.

I open the door and am assailed by the thunderous roar of a multitude of snorers. How does anyone around here get a good night's sleep? I cock my ear to the right and hear my oldest son playing what a think is a tuba. To the left our middle daughter is playing a cello. A night-time symphony in surround sound.

I explore the house anticipating a crime scene around each corner. Nothing.

I go back upstairs and settle back in. Maybe I scared whatever it was off.

The dog looks at me. I have a feeling she thinks she sent me out on a mission.

I feel used.

I settle back in bed.

Now I have to go to the bathroom.

As I sit there, the wooden shutter slats is moved by the wind.

shuffle shuffle ..slap

I'm going back to bed.