I am a disgruntled waste of skin today.
This past weekend was a bit rough with my little Bruiser and me. We had thunderstorms. At night. Which means he stresses and I don't get much sleep.
I tried cuddling him and showing him that storms aren't scary. Didn't work. He pulled away, fussed and cried. I tried putting him in my bathroom because often the small room seems to make him feel safer. Didn't work. He barked and scratched the door. I put him in the bathroom at the other end of the house so I could try to ignore him. Didn't work. He had a shit fiesta in there that I got to clean up in the wee hours. I got to run in and out of the storm with the shitty mess, hauling it out to the trash. So I got soaked. In the middle of the night. When I should have been sleeping.
At 5 AM the storm finally had cleared out so I crawled back into bed. Bruiser wanted his breakfast and started barking at me. I threw a pillow at him and he finally let me be. So I got to sleep for an hour before he started at me again.
I got a short nap in the afternoon but Bruiser woke me up because he wanted supper. I don't think Bruiser likes it when I sleep.
I thought last night would be better since there were no thunderstorms scheduled. I was wrong. At midnight he got me up to let him out. I've learned the hard way not to ignore that unless I want to clean up a shit fiesta. I already had the privilege of cleaning up a shit fiesta on thunderstorm night so wasn't interested in a repeat.
Then at 4 AM he decided he was hungry and would click, click, click around by his food dish waiting for me to get up and fill it. Well, I got up! And I made him come in the room and shut the door so he couldn't click, click, click at me anymore. (the clicking is his toenails on linoleum) Next his scratchfest ensued. Sigh. He doesn't scratch quietly. I honestly think that's the point. He wants me to wake up and mess with him. This is a dog who won't shake a paw with you unless you offer him a treat. He knows how to do it, but he won't, unless bribed. He's not stupid. He's also not eager to please...you are supposed to please him...not the other way around.
He plays his "wake up mom" games on the down low for as long as he thinks it might work without having to get in my face and risk pissing me off. So he clicks and scratches and paces and whines a bit and rattles his dog tags. Until a bit before my alarm went off...then he decided to risk pissing me off and began barking at me. He wanted his breakfast.
I got stubborn. I did give up on sleep and toddled off to the bath but was NOT going to feed the little bastard until after my bath. We have a process and I'm sticking to it dammit! So I got serenaded by his barking festival all thru my bath. For a while I just lay there with my head under the water to try to shut him out. Then I realized I desperately needed to go to work just to get away from him. So I got moving.
On a final note, on my way out the door, as I was slipping on my tennis shoes, I stepped in a little turd he'd left for me by the front door. Gross. I cannot even express to you how utterly sick to death I am of cleaning that dog's arse almost every time he comes in the door and getting up at all hours all the time to make sure he doesn't have an accident and cleaning up after the many accidents he does have. I feel like if I get thru a day without dealing with Bruiser's shit, it's a good day!
This morning I was dreaming of a day when I can be sad that Bruiser has died but I'll be able to sleep thru the night and I won't have to clean poopy dog butt every day and I won't be barked at when I try to enjoy a hot soak in the tub and I won't have to walk in any more grody surprises when I'm trying to head to work in the AM. I can grieve...but it will be peaceful. Unlike my life with my geriatric dog.
