by Angelina Brown

Created on: May 01, 2008

Every day my dogs make me laugh. Their zest for life is contagious. When I'm feeling snarly over washing dishes, making beds, and running the vacuum, all I need to do is look to my dogs, gleefully playing tag with the carpet monster (that would be the vacuum to the uninitiated), stretching out blissfully on the freshly-made beds, and chasing soap bubbles around the kitchen. They remind me that life is meant to be enjoyed with a smile on.

But, sometimes, their sense of humor is too much for me.

A few weeks ago, Indiana experienced it's first thunderstorm of the year, at one in the morning. Now, the Doberman, Moby, doesn't like thunderstorms. He had a rough time of it before I adopted him and he hasn't gotten over his fear of thunderstorms. So, when the heavens began to crash, Moby stood bolt upright on the center of the bed, where I was blissfully dreaming, and raised his own ruckus. Jolted out of a sound and peaceful sleep, I jerked upright and promptly smacked craniums with Moby. Every time this even happens, I lose; Moby's skull is much harder than mine. So, rubbing my head, I reached for my glasses, misjudged the distance, and fell out of bed onto the floor with a very loud thud, waking my roommate and her Dachshund at the far end of the house.

Moby abandoned his fear to leap off the bed and dance around me, overjoyed that I'd gotten out of bed so quickly and gracefully. I righted myself just as my bedroom door opened and my roommate asked me if there was something wrong.

"No, we're fine," I said. "I fell out of bed."

"And hit your head?" she asked.

"No, I hit my head on Moby's skull," I said. She snickered. "How bad is it?"

"You're going to have a lump," she said.

"Great."

I stood, feeling a little shaky. It was one in the morning, I had just cracked my head, and I had just fallen out of bed, so shaky was a good thing.

Lying in the center of the bed, appearing to be slumbering peacefully, were Moby and Memphis, the Shih tzu who wasn't afraid of storms and could sleep through a marching band practice.

"I think you lost your spot," my roommate said.

"I don't think so," I assured her. "Moby, get off the bed."

He didn't move.

"Moby, OFF!" I raised my voice. He yawned and stretched out impossibly long legs. "I'm not kidding, dog. OFF!"

I reached for his collar to drag him off the bed if I had to. He rolled over, stretching again, and presented his back to me.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding," I said. I realized that the storm, a fast-moving system, was already past us. "You're going back to sleep, in the middle of the bed? I don't think so, dog. Get off that bed or I'll buy you a dog house and you can live outside."

He finally sat up and yawned hugely, a stunning event when a Doberman does it. And then I swear I saw him wink at Memphis before he got his long-legged body off the bed and let me get back in. I swear he winked.

Learn more about this author, Angelina Brown.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.