Discombubulation

Discombubulated, that’s how I’ve been feeling lately.

Which, in case you aren’t familiar with the term, is a lot like being discombobulated. The main difference is that discombobulation is the direct result of Bub Dog shenanigans.

Bub Dog, in case you aren’t familiar with the myriad of animals who share our home, is our 16-year-old, half-Beagle, half-Rottweiler mix. 

Bub, our dog sitters used to tell us, is the easiest dog in the world.  He’s not crazy about strange men and he has been known to kill the occasional squirrel…but all in all, he’s a sweetie and has even been nicknamed “Love Bub” by my friend Martha after he obsessively snuggled with her during a weekend visit.

And then he turned 16.

At which point he not only turned into a curbubgeon but also decided, after a lifetime of putting up with small dog and kitty cat shenanigans, he was ready to do a little shenaniganizing of his own.

So, here’s how a typical day with our beloved Bub goes now:

 4:00 PM - I give Bub one of his nightly medicines, the one that he needs about 90 minutes before eating.

 4:01 PM - Bub mentions that these pills are a delicious amuse-bouche but he’d prefer to go ahead and eat his actual meal and could I please go get his food right now?

4:10 PM - Bub wonders if I have perhaps misunderstood his request and helpfully goes over and starts licking his bowl and pushing it around the room. Then, fearing that I’m not the brightest biscuit in the bunch, goes over and starts pushing Sassy’s bowl around the room too.

4:25 PM - Bub gets on the couch, heaves a big sigh and announces that he’s hungrier than he’s ever been in his entire life, possibly hungrier than any dog in canine history, he’s probably starving to death before my eyes and it will be a barking miracle if he can make it back over to his bowl, much less nibble a few pieces of kibble.

4:26 PM - Bub promptly falls asleep and starts snoring away like a snoring snorapotamus.

 5:15 PM - Opie starts getting the animals’ evening meal together. 

 5:16 PM - Bub wakes up to the glorious sound of food hitting the bowl but then, horror of horrors, remembers he can’t get off the couch on his own anymore.

 5:17 - 5:30 PM Bub resists all attempts to help him off the couch, miraculously turning to stone and gaining 7000 pounds every time we try to pick him up. He also adamantly maintains that the $70 ramp we got him for just this reason is wobbly and weak and the scariest thing EVER.

 5:30 PM - We wave the white flag, put the ramp aside, pull the cushions off the couch, and use them to build a mini staircase. Bub tiptoes down and immediately demands to know why his dinner is late.

 5:45 PM – With dinner but a distant memory, Bub goes outside to do his nightly business. Since part of his new shenanigans includes eating anything he can get his paws on in the yard and subsequently puking all over the house, one of us goes out with him and spends an entertaining 15-20 minutes shooing him away from bird seed, rabbit poop, wood chips, cat poop, sticks, poop of unknown origin, and various other delicious yard-related delights.

 6:00 – 10:00 PM Bub is a mutt on a mission, a dog with a destiny, a pup with a plan…all of which involve going outside and continuing his gourmet journey around the yard. He whines to be let out, we let him out on the deck, he walks the perimeter of the deck in case an escape hatch will miraculously open, comes back to the door and barks to be let back in.  He alternates between these behaviors for most of the night.

 At this point, some of you are wondering if Opie and I are some sort of evil puppy parents and are deliberately starving this poor, abused animal. Let me reassure you that Bubba is NOT underfed. We have talked to the vet, we have monitored his weight, we have even bought him the most disgusting-smelling wet food in creation to supplement his dietary needs (he loves it!). Plus, I fling treats at these animals with reckless abandon.

 The cat’s getting his nails cut?  Everyone gets a treat. Sassy’s getting brushed? Everyone gets a treat. Everyone is sitting around looking adorable? Treats all around! In short, this dog does NOT need more food…and he certainly doesn’t need more food that he is only going to puke up all over my floor.

 But I digress…because Bub’s routine doesn’t end at bedtime.

 11:00 – 1:00 AM At some point in this window, the Bub comes to my side of the bed to wake me up. He whines, chuffs big lungfuls of delightful doggy breath in my face and insists that he needs to go out immediately. It’s an emergency, he can’t wait until morning, he isn’t even thinking about eating something in the yard, he just really, really, REALLY needs to go.

I get up, struggle into my coat etc and sleepily wander outside with him. He does make a good show of lifting his leg – he doesn’t always go but he does at least pretend – then invariably catches a whiff of something disgustingly delicious and we start running around the yard much more quickly than a chubby middle-aged woman and a 16-year-old dog should, especially in the middle of the night. This is often followed by hushed cursing, loud barking, and a mini-wrestling match to get him back in the house.

On a good night, this happens once. On a bad night, we repeat this 2 or 3 times.

Why do I keep getting up? Because this is a 16-year-old dog and sometimes - just often enough to make me nervous - he really does need to go.

1:00-3:30 AM – During this time frame the cat stops prowling around the house and gets in bed – which doesn’t seem important but trust me, causes all sorts of issues.

 3:30 – 4:30 AM Bub wakes up, wonders if it’s too early for a snack and then suddenly realizes that he is the ONLY ANIMAL NOT IN THE BED. This is, of course, a tragedy and a travesty and must be addressed immediately. Not by actually getting in the bed – that’s too high for him and we’ve already discussed the ramp controversy – but by making sure he gets equal snuggle time. Immediately. On the couch.

I used to argue, I used to try to make him get in his own bed and hold out until morning. I used to think if I just ignored him long enough, he’d settle down.

But, as Bub has explained multiple times, he’s an old doggo with nothing to lose. He’ll whine, he’ll cough right in my face, he’ll cry, he’ll bark, he’ll walk out of the bedroom in hopes that I’ll follow, then he’ll come back and start all over again.

What he won’t do is give up.

Now, most nights, I just grab my pillow, stumble to the couch with all three animals at my heels, and try to sleep while contemplating whose bright idea it was to have all these pets in the first place.

So if you're wondering why I haven't blogged much lately or why I wander around staring into space and talking to myself, it's because most days, I’m completely discombubulated.

And tired.