It wasn't enough that my throat was its own five-alarm fire, that I was high on Chloraseptic Throat Lozenges because even though the instructions clearly say to dissolve one slowly in the mouth every two hours that I was dissolving two or three as fast as possible every 15 minutes, while in between sucking down Sucrets cough suppressant lozenges at an alarming rate; no, that wasn't enough misery, evidently. Because at 2 a.m., after a short merciful sleep, I was awakened by the coyote party on the hill.
Oh, they were yelping up a storm. Some of them were laughing and clearly drunk, although I don't know what a coyote would drink to get drunk, possibly some fresh domestic dog blood? I looked around the dark bedroom, counting dog noses, and only came up with one. So I dragged my complaining ass around the house, flipping on lights (which made my eyes bleed) in a search for the other dog nose. I found this one asleep in (of course) the farthest room away. I shook Bronco awake and croaked at him to come to the bedroom. Either he couldn't hear me, or he was frightened by the ghoulish timbre of my seared-throat voice, because he wouldn't come.
I picked him up and lurched back to the bedroom, and shut us all up inside, cozy and safe for the night. Well, not so fast. Now Bonnie was awake, too, and they both had one thought: "TREATS." (In case you ever get to feeling loved by your companion animals, remember that as much as they may worship the ground you walk on and live for your reassuring pat on the head, you will always take second place to food.) So, treats were doled out with abandon, and I sank back into the warm embrace of my bed, where I lay peacefully for approximately four minutes.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratchscratchscratchscratchscratch. Bronco is at the closed door, and he wants out. So. Should I get up and go outside with him, just in case he really really really does have to go, and then accompany him back inside and close us all up cozy and safe for the night again so as to keep him from possibly being coyote prey? Or should I open the door and get back into that warm bed and try to force thoughts of dismemberment from my mind and maybe, just maybe, drift back into a blissful unconsciousness that would let me forget for a while that I had a throat full of poker-hot razor blades?
Bronco, you are on your own, buddy. See you in the morning.
I hope.
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3 comments:
Oh, I am so there with you! Don't get me wrong, I love my dog, but there are some risks I might possibly take to ensure my sleep. And definitely when I am sick!
I sure hope your throat and all get feeling back to normal soon:)
Don't you hate it when your blissful slumber is awakened by something stupid? (in your case, coyotes) I hope you end up with two dogs after all is said and done, and that your throat gets better soon!
My little noodles has been close to death on more than one occasion, however in my case it was three two flu, not the real one!
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