I have had the unique pleasure of sleeping with Missy. A beautiful strawberry blonde with large liquid brown eyes, delicate thin bones, covered by sleek firm muscles. She could be a ballerina or modern interpretive dancer, but she isn’t. She’s a greyhound, a precious sweet petite greyhound.
I am housesitting, I have the opportunity to have a dog sleep on my bed. George won't get on my furniture, but Missy she likes to sleep on a 'real' bed.
In my life, I have tried this twice before.
Once with my childhood dog, Kelly, who wasn’t allowed upstairs but whom I would coax to join me. Poor Kelly, she knew it wasn’t right but would accompany me, her charge, anyway. She would get kicked out, I would sneak downstairs and try to sleep with her under the table, except I mostly was found out and sent to bed sans dog.
The other time was when I was sick, very sick in San Francisco. When you are single and very sick, you spend a lot of time hoping you don’t die, and wondering what would happen if you did, which takes you to dark places. Is there enough available food for the animals so they don’t eat me before I am missed. Will I be missed? When was the last time anyone called? I have carte blanche to work at home, will anyone notice that I haven't sent an email in days? The animals are well behaved, will they know enough to get the bag open? I should have vacuumed.
I was feeling pretty miserable, sorry for myself, occasionally frightened, lonely and needing a cuddle.
I cajoled Izzi, my greyhound, to jump up on my bed. (She also did not get on my furniture. Now I am wondering if, perhaps it was my choice of furniture in which I tend to be frugal, that dissuaded her, whereas I never spared expense on the many—7 I think at one point for her — dog beds she had) She laid down, I got under the covers, and all 67 pounds of her were panting. My bed was vibrating like one of those coin-operated beds you find in small motels on the side of secondary highway routes.
Yes, I have tried one on a cross-country trip back in the early nineties. I popped in two quarters and away it went. I couldn’t understand the attraction, it was quite distracting and my brain didn’t like it, think jello-jigglers without the giggles. About two minutes in I had to climb off.
There was no way to stop it, so I went about unpacking what I would need for the night, thinking it was a waste of fifty cents, and shooting sidewards glances at the noisy vibrating box until it finally ran its course.
Well, that’s what it was like having Izzi panting on the bed. There was no rest or relaxation — her anxiety caused me anxiety so I released her from her task. She promptly laid down next to my bed, a stalwart companion just three feet lower than my feverish corpse-like body.
Back to the present and sweet Missy. It’s a full-sized bed, and Missy, as dogs and cats do, has the uncanny knack of finding the exact middle. The middle which I had claimed until I got up to get something.
In the past four nights, I have become wise to her ways and have jumped in quickly to claim as much of my side of the bed as I can before she hops up. Last night she tried some fancy diagonal move which had one leg and her butt falling off the side. Startled, she didn’t like that at all, adjusted appropriately, giving me the side-eye the whole time, complete with stress yawn. Your fault human, move over...
She is a complete snuggler and will look me straight in the eye, as she tries to get comfortable. She tucks her nose under the pillow, moves her head this way or that until she gets all comfy. She once tried to steal my pillow as she had knocked her's off the bed. Sorry, Missy ol’ girl — it’s my elbow or nothing. I will give you most of the bed, but not my pillow.
Missy is a retired race dog. I don’t know how many races she ran, but she is still very strong and fast, as evidenced in the race dreams she has at night. Yes, pow, pow, pow, thump, thump, pow, pow, pow, pow all up and down whatever side of my body which happens to be facing her. I am under the covers, she is above, so there are no marks or bruises or scratches, just powerful thumps.
My next goal is to align my back next to her so it will be like a body treatment somewhere between shiatsu, acupressure, and tapotement. Run, Missy, run you precious little houndie! There is a spot just beneath my left scapula… and thanks for the snuggles. <3
