Bad Momma

I am suffering the guilt that only a mother can feel.

Let me explain…

The day is Tuesday, 26 December 2006. The time…4:30am.

That's right… four thirty in the morning. I am awakened by Fred because his collar is jingling from pacing the floor and he's breathing really heavily. You know…that fast, excited, loud breathing that dogs do when they're upset.

I lay there for a few minutes trying to ignore him, and also trying to listen to figure out what has him so darned upset. There's no wind, no storm…what can it be? After about ten minutes, he's not giving it up, so I decide that he must have to go to the bathroom. At four thirty in the morning. Can't be bothered to wait two more hours, now, can he?

So I get up, stumble into the living room, turn off the alarm and let him outside. My eyes were so heavy with sleep that it hurt to open them. When all is said and done, I reset the alarm and crawl back into the warm bed. Fred lays down on the floor next to my side of the bed and does that "smack smack sigh" thing and goes to sleep.

As I'm laying there, trying to get back to sleep, suddenly it hits me. Fred Fart. The SBD kind. It wasawful. Labrador farts are the worst.

Sleep was lost. Gone for good. I could lay there with my eyes closed, but sleep just wasn't happening for me any more.

So I'm forced to live through the day, having been rudely robbed of two precious hours of sleep because of Fred. Fred – who most likely spent the day curled up in bed while I was suffering at work.

Fast forward to Tuesday night. A winter storm is rolling into the area – meaning lots of heavy rain and wind. Wind at my house means a whistling up in the attic and quite possibly through the windows and door. Yes…reinsulating and changing the windows and doors are on our "to do" list.

So I crawl into bed at 9:30, hoping to find the sleep that so eluded me that morning. I even took the precaution of removing Fred's collar, because I knew that a storm outside means Fred pacing the floor inside. Fred pacing the floor means the jingling of his collar. Jingling of the collar means no sleep for me.

Well…he curled up on the floor next to my side of the bed and proceeded to smack his chops nervously every couple of minutes because of the weather outside. I try to be patient and intervene a few times with a stern, "Fred – Stop it!" Which works for about three minutes each time I say it. Visions of me duct-taping his snout shut start dancing in my head as sleep continues to elude me.

Finally, at 10:30, I get out of bed and coax Fred out of the room. At which time I promptly close the door and crawl back into bed…where it still takes me awhile to fall asleep because of the guilt that weighs heavily on me.

Laying there in my warm bed with my black cat resting against my body, silence enveloped the room, broken only by the sound of rain beating against the window. Music to my ears, but causing my poor dog to spend who-knows-how-long pacing the hallway.

I feel awful. But well-rested.