I am awakened by the dog. He’s whimpering. Now, when he wakes me up in the middle of the night whimpering, it’s because he’s stuck in the bathroom and wants out. (He likes to sleep in the tub but sometimes bumps the door closed on the way by.)
This time, he’s not in the bathroom at all, but standing by the bedroom door. (I keep the door closed at night so he doesn’t get into anything in the rest of the house.) This is unusual enough that it’s worrisome. He doesn’t go for his morning constitutional until around 8:00. He’s pretty regular (all the fiber he gets eating my socks, I think).
I get up and go check the house. My wife’s just home from the hospital, and still wearing a heart monitor (just in case thing), so she’s on the couch. She’s fine. The boys are fine, snoring like their lives depend on it. Kay’s fine, she rolls over when I crack the door.
There’s no fire, no one creeping about the yard, the doorbell hasn’t rung. There’s no Sunshine Behind the Trashcan (although it’d be a Gina at this point – relationships are kinda fluid at 13 I guess).
I return to the bedroom.
There, with the most innocent “What???” face ever beheld gracing the face of a golden retriever, Shakespeare lies in The Warm Spot on the bed.
He is so not getting any treats today.