Why A Wife Leaves Her Husband's Bed...or Kicks Him Out

I am so groggy, I can barely keep my nose from plunging into my keyboard. I want sleep. Good sleep, kind sleep, silent sleep. The kind of sleep I last night did not get (the Latinate form, I do believe).

Molly, the world's best dog, last week began a bout of wee small hours shitting on the living room floor. For those of you who have dogs, you know that this act is always accomplished on the carpet, even when pristine tile is so readily available. And you also know that one pile is never sufficient, when multiple drops will do. We had to break her of the habit fast. So last night, we closed her in the bedroom. Our bedroom. Where she normally spends the night, or so we thought.

A word about dogs and their nocturnal habits. As with so much about her, Molly's sleep style makes us smile. It is based on we know not what. Here's how it goes. She starts off the night stretched out between us on top of the covers. A part of her body must be touching a part of each of us. At some point, she goes to the bottom of the bed. At some point, she goes under the bed. At some point, she gets into the bed, on D's side. All of this is done silently, effortlessly, even I would say delicately, for I am never waked/woked/awakened by her journey.

If I were, she would not be near the bed. This was a condition of getting her, that she couldn't keep me up at night jumping on and off the bed. As our last dog, the beloved Pupi, did until the point when I could no longer take it and left our marriage bed to her and D. For a number of years, we had separate beds. Sometimes separate bedrooms. Yes, dear reader, we were that kind of couple.

But at least I was getting a good night's sleep. Which at my age is no small thing and much to be grateful for and more important than lots of other things one once thought was crucial.

Last night, Molly channeled Pupi. Tonight if she doesn't go back to her former sleep habits, I'm off to the guest room.