Every night this week, Ming the Pug has been gyrating on top of the bed, biting her leg and shaking her little head. It’s all part of her annual allergy ritual which heralds the end of summer and the beginning of fall.
All this happens despite the fact I’ve heavily dosed her up with allergy meds. It seems that the medication wears off at exactly 5 a.m. leaving her in a stressed out tizzy. She shakes and shimmies for at least an hour before falling into an exhausted sleep. Trouble is, all that bed-shaking leaves me completely unnerved and unable to get back to sleep.
So last night, I succumbed to the siren of the leather sectional.
It’s an oasis in a sea of turmoil.
Ming likes to sleep with her belly on the back of the couch; it seems to cool her hot loins and gives her some respite. Unlike the bed, the couch doesn’t shake — thank God — and I can finally find my own twilight.
This morning, I dragged my ass to the gym. When I returned, I found Ming doing a breakdance worthy of Michael Jackson, legs flailing, butt scraping against the floor.
Poor little one.
She looked at me with those bug eyes which seemed to say: Please momma, put me out of my mystery.
I flipped the top of the pill bottle and rammed a little pink sedative down her throat. For the first time, she didn’t struggle.
Minutes later, as I write this, she is snuggled at my feet snoring loudly.
This is not exactly peace in my time, but I’ll take it.
It’s better than the ragweed boogie.