Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Strange bedfellow.

In my home, there is a 50 pound ball of ferocious cute called a bulldog. I don't recall if I've mentioned him here today, but it's true.

If you've ever met a a bulldog, you know that besides being ferociously cute, they snore. And not like a little cute wheezy heavy breathing thing that makes you put down the paper and say, "Why look darling! I bet he's dreaming of chasing rabbits! Now bring me my pipe, won't you?"

When a bulldog snores, you say, "Holy shit! Is someone demolishing the house next door? Is there an earthquake? Get under something, there's an earthquake! Oh sweet mother of God, an EARTHQUAKE!"

Yeah, it's loud.

For this reason, the 50 pounds of loudness sleeps in a kennel on a separate level of the house from everyone else, and even still, the vibrations are disturbing. Also, he sheds and smears eye boogers on duvet covers. And, he is a total bed hog. His 50 pounds spread out sideways is more like an obnoxious, smelly, dripping, snorey hobo on your bed. To further complicate matters, we have a queen size bed. And Big Dude already takes up more than his allotted 75% of it.

It is safe to say I stop thinking he's all that cute at bedtime. The bulldog, not Big Dude. Ahem.

So, every night before I go to bed, I fill a glass with ice and then say, "Box" to the bulldog, which, in bulldog means, "Yo dude, get in your box."  He hops off the couch and happily takes refuge in his kennel. Probably because it's a an extra-large kennel intended for a pony-sized labradork, so he's got enough room in there for a pool table. Also? Down pillows. Anyway - because bulldogs do not like being told what to do, now when I get ice he goes to the box. Pavlov would be proud. I go lock the kennel and life - and sleep - is good.

But here's what would make Pavlov sort of freak out.

For the last three nights, in the middle of the night, I am startled by a 50-pound of dripping snorebag jumping on to the bed. Always, I am too deep into a dream about  Lenny Kravitz playing the trumpet topless restful slumber to kick him off and take him to the box downstairs.  What's different? He's been pretending to be in deep REM sleep when I go get the ice. His juicy steak lips are spread out across Big Dude's lap and his eyes closed tightly.  I say "Aw, lookit how cute him is wid his widdle wips all sweepy." Actually, I don't. I have never babytalked in my life. It gave me hives just now typing that.

Anyway - I decide to leave him be for awhile, and Big Dude swears he'll "box him."

BUT! Here's the tricky bulldog part: As soon as I am out of Big Dude's sight, the bulldog tippity toes into the box and jumps in hard enough to make the door slam. So Big Dude thinks I PUT HIM IN THERE. When the world is quiet, he escapes and makes his way up to my chocolate brown bedding to shed, drip and SNORE - leaving me to sleep fitfully, dreaming of earthquakes while clinging to the edge of the mattress on the 2 inches left for me.

And that, Officer, is why I'm driving erratically.


  1. I always thought I wanted a bulldog. And then I met one, and I'm convinced I'm more of a beagle or terrier type person.

    However, I was always the sucker who slept with stinky old dog when I would come home from college. I would feel sorry for her being so unloved that no one else would tolerate her stinky old dog smell, so I would let her sleep in my bed with me.

    Dogs see me and they see sucker written on every inch of my body. It's a personal failing. I probably wouldn't even lock Bulldog into a box, just because I'm such a sucker.

  2. Ours doesn't shed, but he is a space-hog. He's never been allowed on our bed because he's all knees and elbows (and farty goodness). He's always slept on the floor around our bed. We just bought him a bed again (he thought the last one was an oversize chew toy) because we'd wake up in the middle of the night to find him on the couch where he knows he's not allowed. And he makes his way back to the bedroom whenever one of us retires for the evening, because he figures the further away he is from the kennel, the less likely he is to wind up there.

  3. Bahahahaha!

    Our bulldog has her own little pied-a-terre in the living room. After the last potty break, I tell her, and Zoe, "go to bed".

    Yes, sometimes I can hear her all the way in my bedroom. I've had to close the door, she's so loud!

    P.S. We have one of those tall beds, so she can't jump on it. Zoe can, however, and lands on the jewels. every. time.

  4. "Actually, I don't. I have never babytalked in my life. It gave me hives just now typing that." HAHAHAHAHAHAA!

    Thanks for the heads up. Now I know for sure how I feel about getting a bulldog. Just like I feel about moving back to NYC. LOVE to visit. Don't want to live there.

  5. My only thought, throughout: He must be worth it...

  6. And lost me at "ferociously cute." Any critter with the term "bull" in its name gets me worried.

  7. I can ship you a labradork to fit that kennel if you need one. She has ferocious breath, will stand, shivering and whining,on your head during a thunderstorm but doesn't mind being used as a pillow occassionally.

  8. Yes, officer I can touch my nose. Can you touch yours?

    What, is that not appropriate? I can't tell anymore in my sleep deprived state.

  9. The Bulldog was in REM sleep? Was this REM pre-1991 when they were still kinda cool? Or post 91 when they became a pale imitation of themselves? I had no idea Bulldogs had such discerning taste in alt-rock



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