Mopsy

Mopsy is dozing on my lap as I write, eyes closed, head nodding because she doesn’t know where to lay it down.

Mopsy is a two-year-old Shih Tzu who had a rather close haircut a few months back before she came to live with Jim and me last Thursday. Yes, instead of a chicken with a diaper, we chose a dog. I just couldn’t resist the look of Shih Tzu pantaloons bounding away down a garden path like a Beatrice Potter storybook creature. You remember Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail, don’t you?

I haven’t had a dog for almost twenty years and never such a small dog. (Ah, she’s almost snoring with her head still up.) Even though Mopsy is well past puppy-hood, she has disrupted our calm senior lives as if she were brand-new human triplets.

Her well-known breeder, Bonnie Prato of Oakland, made no promises about house-breaking so we’ve been keeping a close eye out lest she mark our good rugs. This means we leap up anxiously every time she comes out of the kitchen, scoop her up to a piddle-safe lap or onto our bed. She’s still afraid to jump down, thank goodness.

She’s very cheerful, loves to explore our yard and eager for treats. Sits a bit, now. Doesn’t care for kibble but loves our food as much as we do.

But she does not really like her handsome new, Shih Tzu-sized black crate with a special non-spill water bottle she likes to lick. And the big chewy bone made of brown rice to gnaw on the fuzzy, double-folded saddle-pad mattress. Being in the crate means being away from me and hoo boy, she knows how to speak to us directly.

Night #1: no barking. This lulled us into complacency.

Night #2: all quiet until Jim began to snore. Then barking.

I had to laugh, all by myself in the dark, because MY snoring has so annoyed Jim for the past few years that he moves into the guest room, leaving me cold and alone, searching for the heating pad switch. Now HIS snoring has waked Mopsy. Ha ha! Then she stopped and I fell asleep, virtuously ignoring the gentle roars of my beloved husband.

Night #3: no barking, no snoring, just peace. Bliss!

Night #4: we shovel reluctant Mopsy into her crate, say good-night, firmly and pull up our covers. Silence. Then tentative barks. More barks with pauses to listen followed by steady barking and attentive listening.

“Should I go turn out the light?” Jim asks through gritted teeth.

“No! That’ll only encourage her,” I whisper. Continuous barking now. She’s really got our number. We’re trapped in our own bed.

We lie stiffly side by side, wide-awake. Now I would like to drop this darling Mopsy off a cliff. We quietly dig out the maxi-Ambiens and try to unclench our muscles.

“Damn,” Jim cusses, finally. He rises and heads into the kitchen. Mopsy is so thrilled to hear him come AT LAST that she shuts up. I can hear her moaning joyfully, wagging her tail and clawing gratefully at the crate door.

“NO NO NO!” Jim yells and then I hear him actually shake the crate! I didn't know he had it in him.

Complete silence.

We settle into our drug-induced sleeps and hear nothing until this morning.

Stay tuned!