Everyone Knows that Dogs Aren't Allowed Upstairs

Sammy, the Yorkshire terrier, came to visit Monday.  This dog shares alpha status with his person, Cat. 

When she was six, Cat chose and named the wild black terrier Wag at the SPCA.  Cat slept downstairs and so did Wag.  Though the door to the upstairs never closed completely, we taught Wag that he only belonged to middle earth.  He slunk upstairs a couple of times but was never allowed there.

 We had taken Sam on our evening walk to the park.  He’d found a stinking substance and rolled in it.  We did not have any of the brand on shampoo that Sammy’s skin will tolerate.  He still stank when we went to bed.  We carefully arranged the sofa with his huge teddy bear and the tee shirt Cat had worn for several days so that her scent would comfort him.  We said goodnight.  We closed the door until it stuck and went to bed. 

At 3:00 a.m., Ox shook me, “There’s a noise.”  

A shrill, soft, rhythmic noise came from Ox’s side of the bed.  At three in the morning I am not rational.  I woke over a few minutes to discover that the noise was a dog’s whine. By the time I realized Sammy was whining, he’d jumped onto Ox’s side of the bed, walked over Ox, and settled between our feet.  He was out of smelling range.  I pulled the small light quilt over my head and went back to sleep. 

 Last night before bed, I piled a quilt on Cat’s childhood bed.  I put the teddy bear and Cat’s scent-saturated tee shirt on the bed.  I lay down.  Sammy leapt up and shared the bed with me.  After ten minutes I said, "Goodnight, Sam," and followed Ox upstairs.  We closed the sticky door with force. 

Last night at 2:30 a.m. lonely Sam hurled himself at the stair door and came upstairs.  This time he only whined two or three whines before he settled between us. 

I’m growing fond of Sam’s warm body at my feet.  Today we break into Cat’s house to retrieve Sammy’s shampoo.  We aren’t going to pretend anymore that dogs aren’t allowed upstairs.  I am glad.