Strange Bedfellow

He's scruffy, brings a soccer ball to bed, and I can't imagine nights without him.

I have two sleep partners: my husband, Sam, and my dog, Charlie.

Sam’s pretty chill. He doesn’t snore or thrash, and keeps to his side of the bed. Charlie, on the other hand, is a lot. He comes into the bedroom with his small plush soccer ball, and if I am asleep, he rouses me by jamming its damp, well-gummed surface into my face. After I throw it- poorly, as I am groggy- he leaps off the bed to retrieve it, then bounds back up, soccer ball firmly in his mouth before settling atop me (sometimes on my legs, sometimes on my torso) and falling asleep. All of this is fine unless I try to move. If I do, he emits a low growl, landing somewhere between a threat and irritation. In this way, my canine jailer and I pass the night.

I know the smart thing to do would be to not let him sleep with me, but when it comes to Charlie, smart is a non-starter. There is some part of me- part martyr, part mom- that actually enjoys the ridiculousness of this ongoing nocturnal drama.

My favorite thing is to wake to him in a comfortable (for both of us) spot, most often with me, in a fetal position, and him, snuggled up in a way that doesn’t bind the sheets or poke into anything sensitive, like my ribs or internal organs. By my favorite thing I mean my favorite thing in the whole wide pandemic-era world. I know that my longing for affectionate connection, like hugs from family and friends, or holding my infant grandson- is a lot to ask a dog to compensate for, but he manages. I believe that for Charlie, I fall somewhere between playmate and pillow. Still, I like to hope that in this moment, where up is down and down is up, I provide a loving space, to which he brings joy and that gross plush soccer ball. In fact, some nights, when I am at my human best, I even dare to think that we deserve each other.