Two nights ago, I went into our bedroom at 10:30 pm only to discover Hubby tucked under the covers. Half an hour earlier, I had noticed him snoozing in the lounge. Now, he was in bed and obviously already half asleep.
Taking a peek into the lounge, I noticed that all the lights in there were still blazing. Now this was very unlike Hubby: he would normally have switched off the lights before going to bed. Then, glancing about me, I saw two white rugs spread out on the floor. Neither of them looked ready for bed.
What’s up, doc? I bet Hubby had not taken the dogs out for their final walk of the night before heading for bed himself. Otherwise, the lights would have been put out and the dogs would have been lying down with their eyes shut.
Going back into the bedroom, I shook Hubby and asked whether he had taken the dogs out. The conversation went like this:
‘Have you taken the dogs out?’
A mumbled ‘Yeh!’
‘Are you sure you have taken the dogs out?’
”Yenh!’ This time it included a kind of snort, precursor of the snore.
‘Are you very sure you have taken the dogs out?’
‘Nnnnng . . .’
I decided I would check back with Hubby after the last reply and returned to doing the accounts – the dreaded accounts that stress me out every three months when they rear their ugly heads. I hate numbers!
Ten minutes to midnight and I was getting ready for bed. There was no sound coming from the bedroom as I entered. Hubby was now totally enveloped by the duvet. As I prepared for bed, I asked Hubby again, ‘You are very sure the dogs have had a walk? Maddi is a little restless.’
‘Then why were the lights on in the lounge if you had taken the dogs out?’
‘I don’t believe the dogs have been out. Are you 100% sure you have taken them out?’
Quite obviously, I was not getting anywhere. I switched off the hall lights, left the dogs to go to sleep and then crawled into bed myself. Not 5 minutes later, I heard a pitter patter. Maddi was doing her ‘dance’: she gets restless when she needs to go out. In my mind, I was absolutely certain that the dogs hadn’t been walked that night.
3 a.m. Clip, clop, clip, clop, clip clop. ‘Maddi needs to go out,’ I murmured at Hubby. No answer. Soon after, all went quiet.
7:30 a.m. Hubby was already up and in the process of taking the dogs out for their morning walk. I heard some rustling, then the leads being put on the dogs, then silence.
8 a.m. An acrid pungent smell was evident as I exited our bedroom. It was the smell of . . . you’ve guessed it . . . dog wee. Maddi had weed on the flagstone floor right in front of the external door because she had not been taken out the night before for her evening constitutional. Zack, however, good boy that he is, had held his water. Evidence of what Maddi had emptied out of her bladder was now covered up with newspapers (which were the cause of the rustling I had heard 30 minutes ago.)
After breakfast, Hubby had the cheek to say to me, ‘I must have fallen asleep and forgot to take the dogs out.’ I told him that I had asked him a number of times whether he had taken the dogs out and he had said ‘Yes’. Hubby could not recall any of this. He must have been speaking in his sleep.
The moral of the story? Never forget to wee your dog before going to sleep at night. Otherwise, you might find a small paddling pool in your path to wade through the next morning!
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