No More Puppies Sleepin’ on the Bed!

Feel free to sing the title to yourself to the tune of “No More Monkies Jumpin’ on the Bed!”

A little less than a week ago we agreed to retrain the dogs to sleep on their own beds. It all started on night, around 5 in the morning, when I absolutely could not sleep. Hubby was on his side of the bed, Tank was in the middle (Hubby got stuck with the footy side though, so that’s a plus)*, Matti was sprawled out on the bottom third or so of my side, Willis was flopped all over my head and the back of my neck (this cat is pushing 15 pounds, by the way), and the baby was kicking up a storm. I swear, you’d think it was the world soccer finals in there. I decided at that point that there were far too many living things piled up on one half of a queen-sized mattress and snuck away to the guest bed.

Ahhhhhh, sleep. Sure, the cats followed me, but I managed to keep Willis off of my noggin’ and actually get some restorative shut eye.

Hubby, upon getting home from work that day, offered to kick the dogs off the bed. I guess if somebody’s gotta go, he’d prefer to keep his wife nearby.

I think the transition has been harder on us than on the dogs. The first night, we sent them back to their own beds about 18 times, but halfway through the night Hubby asked if maybe, you know, Tank was okay to stay on the foot of the bed? Where he’s all tiny and curled up? Mmmmno. Second night, they got up less than a dozen times and the third night I think we only sent them back to bed two or three times.

So it’s been going pretty well. We really miss them on the bed, especially for snuggles, but my legs ache a heck of a lot less and I’m definitely sleeping better.** Last night we almost failed on our consistancy though (key for dog training – seriously, you can’t get mad at a dog for not being a mind reader and figuring out when you actually mean a command or want X behaviour and when you really mean some other random thing).

One of the cats had to barf, so of course he chose the comforter for maximum barfing efficacy. Hubby hopped up out of bed, turned on a couple of lights and came to the rescue. If being pregnant means I don’t have to get up at 4 am to take my turn cleaning cat vomit, then at least there’s one good thing about the process. I’m certainly not anticipating many restful nights after the baby arrives.

As soon as Hubby was out of the bed, Tank made his move. He rather nonchalantly settled himself in the middle of the bed, being absolutely adorable in the process. Hubby pretended not to see this, turned out the lights and got back into bed.

“Honey, I think there’s a dog in the bed.”

“Mmhrrmmmm,” he mumbled while snuggling the dog and playing with Tank’s ears.

Floompf!***

“Honey, now there’s two dogs on the bed.”

One sad, dejected sigh later, he sent the dogs back to their own beds for the rest of the night.

While I feel guilty, since my lumbering, uncomfortable pregnant self is pretty much the instigator for “no more puppy snuggles at night,” sleep is good. Besides, hubby can still disengage himself from WoW and snuggle to his heart’s content on the couch. Tank is always up for that.

* If you’ve never shared a bed with a dog, realize that the side with all the feet on it is the side that is going to accidently kick you in the eyeball while it’s asleep.
** To some extent, better being simply at all.
*** Floompf is the sound that an 80 pound Matti makes when he jumps up on the bed and settles down on top of your toes.