Sunday, June 2, 2019

I hear you, but where are you?

Night before last we had a fairly severe thunderstorm. Ellie, the dog who will fiercely find and torment a copperhead snake without a second thought, is scared senseless of a bad storm. Knowing the forecast for the evening, I gave her a small amount of Benadryl. I have found that if she gets the medication before the storm, she is normally much more calm. 

Everyone was in bed. The lights were out and I was reading my Ipad. With the first strike of lightening and loud clap of thunder, Ellie was whining at my bedside on the floor. (Sometimes she sleeps in her bed under a table in my bedroom and sometimes she chooses to sleep on the bed.) I picked up and put her on the bed.

She immediately climbed on my pillow, above my head. I attempted to assure her the world was not ending rubbing her head with calming words. Thinking all was well, I turned on my side and went back to my reading. Ellie moved a bit. My eyes looked up to see her head next to mine, as if she was reading also. Whatever, as long as she was calm.

Over the next few hours, she was on and off the bed with each clap of any thunder. I found myself taking cat naps between the moments of Ellie's angst. Finally we all went to sleep, from sheer exhaustion, if nothing else.

Each morning the pups start getting restless around 5:30. Usually I can negotiate 30 minutes or so more of sleep. If Ellie is on the bed, she is leading the charge. If she didn't bless us with her presence on the bed the following night, she will come to my side of the bed and very quietly whine. It is as if she is trying to be polite, but making her presence known none the less.  

Yesterday morning was no different. Marshall had climbed on top of me, tail wagging being much more cheerful than anyone should be at that time of the morning. I informed him it was not time to get up and tried to go back to sleep. I could hear Ellie's quiet whine. "Great", I thought. "Now ALL the natives were restless."

I reached down to get her but there was no Ellie. I looked to see if she was standing at the door ready to go downstairs. But she was not there. I turned over and tried to go back to sleep. But she continued whining. Finally I got off the bed, went over to her bed - no Ellie. It was at this time I realized she was under the bed. I could just see her little black nose peeking out. Getting down on my hands and knees, I reached to get her. She quickly scooted back further under the bed. 

After some coaxing, she came back over to the edge. It was then that I realized this was "Houston, we have a problem" moment. She was stuck under the bed and could not get herself under the wooden side rail. The bed was much too heavy for me to lift. 

For a little dog who could dig a good hole anywhere in the yard, certainly she could "dig" herself out of this situation.

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