Dear Goddamned Beagle,
I’m writing this from my bed at half past midnight as you snore gently, burritoed beside me in one of the two smaller throw blankets I keep on my bed: one for you, the other, whichever that may be, for me should I get cold in the night. I have two because untangling you from a blanket in order to share takes so much work that I’m up after that, watching murder shows to try to get back to sleep, sidling my way under whatever corner of the covers I’ve managed to pry free. This isn’t really a problem in the summer, when over-zealous air conditioning can be easily remedied, but having spent one full winter with you now, I’m not taking that chance that I forget to have the spare throw on hand that first cold night, so they both remain on the bed, both now inaccessible as you’ve burritoed into one while on top of the other. We’ll talk about this in the fall.
Do you realize I now take my computer up to bed with me at night so I can get work done in the morning while I wait for you to wake up? Though I’m generally awake around 6:00 am, you’re barely willing to combat crawl to the stairs by 8:00. Once you’ve regained the use of your legs you head downstairs, eat, go out, and then burrito down on the window seat for another two-hour siesta before you start your day.
You’re pretty strict about all this, so it’s understandable that you’ve been exhausted this past week from the mayhem surrounding your usual routine. For starters, we’ve got two dog friends living upstairs now along with their human, left without their regular home due to a terrible fire. We’ve had Thing 1’s parkour travelers staying here, three of them, all sweaty and stinky and doing things like deliberately hurling themselves to the floor to roll and then leap back up, all for no apparent reason. We’ve had Thing 2’s She Thing and her two friends staying here, and because her friends are also female, we’ve had all the Auxiliary Things hanging around like Democrats at a fund raiser, waiting to be approved and bestowed upon. Together, they leap and roll, squeal and flirt, eat and drink and drink and drink and eat – Jesus they eat a lot.
If you’ve been counting, Beagz, that’s about ten Things, and they’ve been coming and going for ten days so far. This has meant that though you’re always happy to have guests around – you’re a good beagle that way – you’ve also endured shouting and loud music and romping and revolving door Uber departures and arrivals and late night partying (nothing really carries like the sound of an air mattress being filled at 4:00 am by a bunch of drunken twenty-somethings trying to figure it out), but not nearly enough dropped food. I’m sorry, Beagle, but people who’ve spent days drinking mango flavored beer and Fireball and passion fruit-flavored vodka with a quart bottle flavored seltzer back are not going to share their food. They’re more likely to beat you to the floor going after that one more bite. They do this to survive. Though you, too have bulging red and yellow eyes, theirs are due to what might be called a “working hangover,” while yours, well… I’m actually not sure what yours are about.
Meanwhile, the daily walking of our new dog friends, one of whom tends to bark in announcement of her arrival to any floor, and the other of whom is a handsome if ungraceful fellow, has disturbed your morning rest, causing you to lift your head, flipping your kitchen blanket’s turban-like end knot back as you cock your head and listen, eventually lowering back into your slumber, but with your nose sticking out just in case. This is not adequate beagle REM sleep.
This morning when I called you to get up it was already close to 8:30, and as I came out of the bathroom still brushing my teeth I saw your response to my suggestion. I had my computer with me, so I got back on the bed and worked for a while longer.
Most of the extra Things are clearing out by the end of the long weekend. In the mean time, I really don’t want to get a coffee maker for my bedroom, so we’re going to have to draw a hard line at 9:00 am. I hope you understand.