Sure it sounds good. Until you remember that one is my wife of 38 years, and the other one is a real dog.
Not an ugly woman, but an actual dog. Seven years ago, I wouldn’t have even considered Carol Baskins to be a “real” dog. Anything smaller than a cat did not qualify as a dog to my younger, stupider self.
But in my wisdom and after being forced to sleep with a mini-creature for 5 years, I have learned that even a little dog can push my fat ass clean off the bed.
You would think after 5 years of practice sleeping with two females, I would learn to hold my own. You would think wrong.
It’s been 5 years of the slippery slope into irrelevance. Like a software engineer is to the tech bro oligarchy, my presence in the bed is only a temporary nuisance to those who rule. If I show any signs of thought or independence, I will be replaced by the first robot that can do my job…
Since I’m retired, I’m not sure what exactly my job is… but I’m sure as soon as they find something else to take out the garbage, feed the dog twice a day and take the dog on daily walks, my services will no longer be required.
My place on the totem pole was confirmed for me one recent morning at 5 a.m.
I rolled from my right side to my back, only to discover I was in the dog’s way.
She had slipped under the covers with her head “sharing my pillow.” By sharing, I mean she had the lion’s share. I was trying to find enough space for my entire skull to fit on one small corner of my crappy pillow.
The dog mimicked my move. She rolled onto her back, covers up to her armpits, with her paws going straight up in the air, only bending at the front knees for what looked like balance and relaxation.
As her head fell next to my ear, a grunting, roaring resonance rose from her belly and went straight through my left ear and into my brain. In the fog of morning, I could not tell if I was hearing something, or just sensing the vibration — like a train rumbling through the living room.
God damn it, the dog is starting to snore. Just as my ears adjusted, the sound echoed across the room. Lifting my head just slightly from the pillow, but not enough to stir the Chiweenie, I saw the wife: flat on her back, covers up to her armpits, head on four pillows (one of which is supposed to be mine or the dog’s — I can never tell) pressing out a series of noises that sounded exactly like the dog — times 10. Makes sense. Her lungs are at least 10 times the size of our 10-pound dog.
OK. Now I’m awake.
I was in the middle of a three-stooges sketch where they are sleeping in bed, but I’m the only stooge who is not in on the joke.
I fled to the living room and the peace of the leather couch. Sure, I might have to scrunch into the fetal position to fit. Sure, I can’t really roll on my back or over to my right side. Sure, it might be disappointing that the only grunting I can get two females to do in bed sounds exactly like Larry and Curly waking up Moe.
But for fuck’s sake, this is the only way I have found to sleep with two females and get any sleep at all.
This will work until your chiweenie catches on, and joins you on the couch.
Couch sharing is an afternoon activity. The dog won’t get out of bed until 10.
My first thought was that you needed a bigger bed. But then it occurred to me that the chiweenie is trying to establish territory. You can’t escape it. Nor can you escape a snoring wife. (If I try to get out out of bed, I’m castigated for waking her up.) Is this why the English have separate bedrooms?
It may just be gravity. She is sinking into the heaviest object in the bed. We have two “extra” bedrooms and the couch. So I have options.
I only let my German shepherd in my bed when i am drunk (usually on Saturday night). I am embarrassed to report that after awhile she prefers to cold hard tile floor. As Rodney Dangerfield would say “no respect”. 🙂
-Butterpants
Maybe I should join you shepherd on the floor.