Tim Dowling: a curious incident with the dog in the nighttime

In the middle of the night I feel the warm breath of a creature stirring my hair. It's too dark to see anything, but I know from experience that the dog is standing by the bed, chin resting on the mattress next to my head, gently exhaling into my face. The point is this: to wake me up without waking my wife.

Every night I go to bed to find the dog already there, in my place, head on my pillow. Every night I shoo the dog off, and the dog obediently retreats to its own bed and falls asleep. That used to be the routine, until I started waking up in the dark with the dog staring at me, wanting to be allowed to climb back up on to the bed.

I will relent—if not yet, then eventually—but if my wife wakes up at any point during the dog’s campaign, all bets are off. So when the noise starts at 4am I’m minded to ignore it, but it’s too loud. The dog, asleep across my shins, pins me to the mattress while a piercing, resonant sound carries on.

tim dowling, dog, nighttime, bed, pillow, wife, breath, 4am, noise, sleep