Photo: At night’s end (a dog that snores)


Abelard the Dog and Courtenay Bluebird sharing a pillow on the bed.

 

When Abelard is drowsy, he will often curl up against my back—or drape his head across my torso—and drop into a wild and natural sleep.

 

Abelard snores: his breathing is wet and sonorous and deep.  This dog shows himself to be a true slumberer, a gourmand of snooze, an enthusiast of rest, a sleeper of great gusto.

In other words, Abelard is the young canine Orson Wells of deep sleep and I love him for it.

But there’s something funny about Abelard and his sleep, and by funny, I mean strange. I’ve discovered that I have to make sure I’ve finished getting ready for bed myself before I settle in with Abelard because his sleep-sounds are a natural soporific.


It’s a shock, I tell you, to wake up and discover that I’ve managed to fall asleep with my clothes and street shoes on. Again. I’m a lifelong, honest-to-goodness, there-are-doctors-involved insomniac—this sort of thing doesn’t happen in my world, ever.

Yet, thanks to Abelard, I sleep. It’s suddenly very simple. I brush my teeth for two minutes; attend to my skin; straighten the covers; listen to Abelard gulp and snore and fuffle, and WHAMMO!—I’m out.

Gee, just thinking about Abelard’s artful torpor makes me want to head off to Snoozeville.  Let’s see if Abelard is ready for bed. Abelard? Bed?


Ah, here he comes.

Hand me that butterfly net, will you?  I want to catch some z’s.

 

Photo: The evening news



Abelard draped across The Husband's lap in a wing back chair at night.


Of our three dogs, Abelard requests the most constant companionship.

 

While Ilsa will wander off to mull a chewy over under her favorite wing chair and Monkey might curl into a drowsy ball in a corner of the couch, Abelard will almost always insist on draping himself across your person in an artful shape wherever you may sit, however you may stand.

But Abelard’s favorite thing* to do—his utter and absolute favorite—is to climb up in The Husband’s lap and tuck his head into a corner of The H.’s shoulder and drowse like a babe in arms while they both watch the evening news.


*(Abelard’s second favorite thing is to throw his one front paw across my shoulder as he and I swim towards sleep.)