Night of the Dog

Maybe this should be Morning of the Dog, because it happened in the morning yesterday, just too early. Sophie decided she needed to go out at 5:30 a.m. She announces this by doing a little dance by my bed, clicking her nails on the hardwood floor, accompanied by a vocal addition of soft, innocent, growl-like sounds.

I admit to being a helicopter mom to this dog, something I think I can honestly say I didn’t do to my children. But I don’t like Sophie to be in the yard unless I’m at my desk where I can survey most of the yard, with one blind spot. Second choice is if I’m in the kitchen area where I can still keep an eye on things. What am I afraid of? The big thing to me is dognappers—either someone who thinks she would make a darling pet (they don’t know her yet) or a dogfight owner looking for bait dogs. The latter is my absolute terror. I think she’s big enough that no creatures of the night would bother her, and if they did, I’d sure hear the fuss.

Leave her out alone in the wee hours of the morning? Never. So that meant there I was, sitting on my walker, trying to read on my phone with blurry eyes—and getting angry. You see, she doesn’t just go out to do her business and come back in. She likes the night air, likes to survey her kingdom from the deck. I see her watching me, and I imagine a rebellious cast to her eyes. She stayed there until 7:30, by which time it was full daylight.

I called “Cheese,” which usually brings her running for a tiny bite of Velveeta; I waved one of her rawhide chew treats; I tried my most commanding voice and ordered, “Come,” which I had once long ago trained her to respond to. I tried turning out the outdoor light and noisily slamming and locking the door (I’m sure my neighbor appreciated that!). Nothing. I considered taking my walker out to the yard, but Jordan has ordered not to do that unless someone is around. For one thing, the lintel in the doorway is high.

About 6:45 I gave up and went back to bed but couldn’t sleep—I kept jumping up to see that she was still on the deck. Finally about seven I gave it up and fell asleep, only to waken with a start when she began to paw at the patio door. I jumped up, afraid she’d tear the screen. She came in as though nothing happened, and I slept until nine. Felt out of sorts all day—bad start to the day.

Since this was not the first time she’s pulled this trick of late, I decided the only thing to do was get her crate out of the attic and crate her overnight. She likes it and goes into it willingly. So last night, I put a rug in there, closed the door behind her, gave her a Benadryl in cheese, and turned on the living room a/c. She slept all night without a sound.

I however did not sleep so well, wracked by a guilty conscience that I had locked my poor, sweet dog up. I didn’t exactly get up to check on her, but I tossed and turned and wakened frequently. So this morning I called the vet to ask if that was cruel and unusual punishment, and they said no, but don’t give her access to water during the night. When she heard that, Jordan said, “That really is cruel and unusual punishment.”

I love my dog desperately, honest, I do. But she is willful and stubborn. She’s also lively, happy, curious, and great company, especially now that I’m alone 80% of the time. But there are limits on my patience. The crate stays for a few nights.