HomeSpunHealers

Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show
up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch
and work: you don’t give up.

Anne Lamott
(American Writer)

I’ve had a really stressful week so far.  It all started with my pug Elvis’ scratching and flinging himself all over the furniture, trying to scratch his chubby little body to no apparent relief.  I knew it was time for him to have a bath, and he goes to the vet to get his bath and his nails trimmed about once every six to eight weeks.  I have two pugs, so I alternate trips to the vet.  Kojak had his visit in early October, and I was going to take Elvis the next week, but I knew he had a wellness check coming up with vaccines due, so I was going to wait until then to take him for the whole shebang. 

On November 7, I carried him in.  His itching was just terrible by then and his eyes both looked red and puffy as if he might be allergic to something.  I figured he probably needed a cortisone shot as I sometimes would have to get for Kojak, particularly in the fall and the spring.  I found out that Elvis’s teary, swollen eyes were not the result of allergies, but instead he had two corneal abrasions (perhaps from all the scratching and flinging he had been doing) that needed immediate treatment.  The vet wouldn’t even give him his vaccines or bathe him, much less give him the cortisone shot, until his eyes were healed.  So, we began a long and nerve wracking process of trying to get an ointment into Elvis’ eyes four times a day. 

The vet had warned that if we didn’t get his corneas healed, he could end up losing his eyesight and perhaps even his eyeball on the worst eye.  Elvis didn’t want me messing with his hurting eyes.  No problem, right?  After all, Elvis is the dog and I’m the human.  Well, if Elvis were a child, then there wouldn’t be any problem.  I have held down a screaming child that didn’t want his medicine or some other kind of treatment many times in the past.  I always came out the victor, and the child got well in spite of himself.  However, neither of my screaming uncooperative children would bite me.  Elvis is a biter.  In fact, he gave my husband such a severe bite back in February of last year when he was trying to put on his harness against Elvis’ wishes that he ended up getting 15 stitches in the ER.  Elvis is a rescued pug who had some abuse in his past that turned him into a biter.  So, we just sort of accepted that we don’t force things on Elvis that he doesn’t want.  And that plan worked well for us and for Elvis until his corneal abrasions and the ointment in his sore eyes four times a day. 

After a devastatingly stressful weekend trying to medicate his eyes, I got the vet to give me eyedrops to use instead of the ointment, which was almost impossible to use on him.  Elvis began to cooperate a little better because he realized the medicine was helping him, and he could see we didn’t mean to hurt him.  Still, the eyedrops work best when we can do it without having to hold Elvis against his will.  He tries to cooperate, and he offers his big brown eyes to us to put the medicine in even though he doesn’t like it, but occasionally, when he’s very wound up, he bobs and weaves and makes it more difficult to do.  And if we have to hold him when he’s wound up, he gently growls first as a warning, and then he snarls and tries to bite.

Guess what winds Elvis up a lot?  Itching that he can’t get relief from!   We tried various things to relieve the itching: combing and brushing him, which he seemed to love, giving him a flea treatment on the outside chance that he might have fleas although I couldn’t see any, and Kojak wasn’t flailing around with flea bites as you might assume he would do if fleas were in the house, and finally, giving him Benadryl tablets, which I read on the Internet was okay for dogs.  That seemed to help just a tiny bit, and I was glad for even a tiny bit of relief myself.  But eventually, the itching got so severe that the dog wouldn’t sleep or eat anymore.  I think he probably couldn’t sleep and he felt too bad from not getting any rest that he didn’t want to eat.  Plus, Elvis is smart.  And he figured out that we were slipping him pills in little treats such as cheese or peanut butter. 

When Elvis doesn’t sleep, neither do I.  I am concerned for his well-being, and I can’t bear to hear him whimper and look at me with those teary eyes, begging me to help him.  I didn’t know what else to do.  I got very little sleep over the weekend, but Elvis was managing to sleep in fits and starts, and so was I.  That went on until Sunday night when he was up all night (and so was I).  A human being can go for a little while, days actually, before keeling over.  But with me working long hours on Monday and Tuesday, and me also having a urinary tract infection that I should have taken time to go to the doctor for, but didn’t, my body started to react in a very negative way.  Tuesday night (or really Wednesday in the wee hours of the morning) I had a full-blown panic attack.  I couldn’t breathe.  I felt as if I was having a heart attack.  I had severe chest pains and could feel my heart beating in my throat.  When I began to cry, the pains shot through my head, too.  I wasn’t sure if I was having a heart attack or a stroke then.  Finally, I was able to calm down and drop off to sleep.  My husband let me sleep in, so I missed work Wednesday.

I woke up with no one in the bed but me and Kojak, so wonder I got about 4 hours sleep.  My first thought was I wonder where Elvis is.  I knew that my husband was staying out of work because he had a severe cold and sinus headache, so I was thinking that perhaps he had taken Elvis to the vet for a cortisone shot or some other kind of relief.  But, no.  They were in the den, my husband asleep on the couch and Elvis sitting by his side, periodically nodding off, then jerking awake to a scratching attack.  In between he would sit and hassle and whimper.  He hadn’t eaten his dog food in almost three days.  It’s a good thing he had some fat to spare.  I called the vet and described what was going on, and he said to bring him in.  So, my husband, bless his heart, took him in.  They examined him and found no fleas either, although one assistant thought she saw one on him.  If he does have just one flea, then that is one nasty little bug to cause all the frustration in Elvis.  The vet also emptied his anal glands, which I think has helped with some of the itching and frantic behavior.  And thank goodness, he gave him a cortisone shot.  Unfortunately, the cortisone shot takes about 24-48 hours to have a real effect.  Still, Elvis calmed down enough to get some sleep, and alas, so did I.  Last night went like this:  Elvis would sleep heavily for an hour to an hour and a half, and then he would awake in a frenzy of scratching and flailing and whimpering.  Of course, every time he woke up, so did I.  But I’m very grateful for the rest that I was able to get. 

Needless to say, Elvis’ itching has mostly precluded me giving him the eye drops.  I’ve been lucky to get then in his eyes once a day, muchless four times.  But improvement has been made, and hopefully by tomorrow, the shot will take full effect and he will be at peace.  He didn’t eat his breakfast this morning, but he did take a baby carrot (he loves baby carrots) and he did eat about 2/3 of his supper tonight.  Hopefully, we’ll both get good night’s sleep tonight.

At the very darkest time, during the panic attacks early Wednesday morning, I really thought that if I had a heart attack and could just be swept up to meet my maker I would be better off than left alive on earth to be sleep deprived and in such pain.  Plus, I couldn’t bear to watch Elvis suffering as he was.  But in spite of the dark, painful night, I was able to get a little rest and to begin to see that the vet had to have an answer to something I saw no hope for.  And he did.  And I pray that this cures the itching for Elvis and for me.  I will finally take Elvis in for his bath tomorrow morning, and the vet said if he was still itching then, he would give him a pill to take once a month that would make his skin poisonous to fleas so that if a flea were to bite him, the flea would immediately die.  I must admit that I considered it might not be a bad idea if there was a pill available for us humans to take that would not make Elvis die, but would certainly give him a strong aversion to biting us.  But then I know that Elvis does not try to bite because he’s mean. He’s not.  He’s the biggest sweetheart in the world and faithful to me to a distraction (he sits against my legs when I’m putting on makeup and drying my hair at my dressing table so that I can barely move).  He tries to bite because he’s afraid.  And that fear runs deep and goes way back, and it’s awfully hard to get over.  Maybe he never will.

I love Elvis and so does my husband, and it’s a good thing.  If we didn’t love him so much and want him with us so much, he’d be a goner.  I think Elvis is very lucky there is no pill for humans that cause immediate death on impact.  And we’re very lucky that Elvis has chosen to love us and trust us (most of the time) even though he had a rough earlier life.  I’m glad neither one of us gave up on the other.  Because in a dog eat dog world, having an Elvis in my life is such a reward.

 ”When defeat comes, accept it as a signal that your plans are not sound, rebuild those plans, and set sail once more toward your coveted goal.” ~Napolean Hill

Elvis is persnickety about what he will allow us to do to him.  We’ve had a leash problem in the past, but that seems to be handled now.  Jim is able to put his leash on and off at will, and Elvis is happy to have it on to go outside.  I haven’t tried to pick Elvis up since the first week we had him.  He growled at me both times I tried although he let the vet assistants lift him into the tub and out of it when he went for grooming.  I guess he figured I had no reason to lift him, and he wasn’t sure what I meant to do with him when I lifted him.  He could see the purpose in being lifted into the tub.  I just wanted to see if he’d let me.  The answer was no.  If a time ever comes when I need to lift Elvis, I’ll see if the answer has changed.

Recently, Elvis has had an ear ache.  Pugs’ ears are susceptible to that because their ear flaps fold over their ears and that’s a prime breeding condition for germs, so I have to clean Kojak’s ears frequently to keep them clear of infection.  Kojak doesn’t really like having the cold liquid put in his ear, but he hunches down obediently and lets me do it.  After it’s over, I say, “Shake it off, Kojak,” and he shakes that wonderful pug shake from his head all the way down his body.  Of course, he would do that even if I didn’t tell him to.  Elvis doesn’t like me to mess with his ears.  He’s allowed me to clean them, but I’ve not done a very good job because I have to follow him around, cajoling him and giving him treats, and it gets done eventually, but not very well.  Elvis runs if he doesn’t want something done to him, and he growls if he really feels threatened.  And we’ve learned the hard way that Elvis’ growl is tame compared to his bite.

Two nights ago, I noticed that Elvis was practically break dancing on his head, trying to rub his right ear.  So, I looked at it, and it was very red and hot.  I decided to just go for the ear medicine that I have on hand for Kojak.  Elvis didn’t know what I was going to do, and by the time he figured out that I was squirting something in there, I had already applied the medication.  I intended to do it again yesterday morning, but I forgot because I had family coming in from out of town and things got busy and hectic in the house fast.  I didn’t really even think about it anymore until last night when Elvis was snorting and rubbing his head all over the bed again.  So, I got the medicine out, and moved over to Elvis.  I let him sniff the little bottle, and he moved away from me on the bed. I moved closer to him and pulled his ear flap back and saw that it was still very red.  So, I got the medicine bottle to the ear, but Elvis moved away again.  Then I did something that if I had been thinking well, I wouldn’t have done.  I got up and went to the end of the bed where Elvis was sitting and stood over and tried to hold him in place to put the ear drops in.  He was growling, and I was determined.  And in an instant, Elvis leapt toward my chest with his front paws to push me away and about scared me to death with his vicious, snarling, teeth exposed growl.  Kojak scattered.  Jim sat up in alarm.  Jim has been the recipient of those snarling teeth, and he feared I’d been bitten.  I hadn’t.  Elvis was on the floor, and I moved toward him, determined to doctor his ear.  Jim screamed, “Are you insane?  No! He’s warned you!”  I stopped, a little miffed that Jim had stopped me.  I just looked at him and said it had to be done.  Jim, the voice of reason in the face of my crazed determination to win the battle with this little pudgy dog, said, “Okay.  But not now.  He’s tired.  It’s been a long day.  He’s been overstressed today.  Let’s wait until he’s had a good night’s sleep, and he’s calmer.”  I don’t know what I’d do without Jim sometimes.  I had to agree that he was right.

I would have just let it go until morning because I thought Elvis had won, and there was no other way.  I felt bad for Elvis because he was walking around with his head cocked to the right side and his ear flap down firmly against the side of his head, a sure sign that he was in pain with the ear.  I just told him I was sorry and that we’d try the medicine again in the morning.  It wasn’t until I was putting on my face creams before heading to bed that  I felt my palms severely tingling, and I realized that I hadn’t even thought about using Reiki on him.  I’m a fairly new Reiki practitioner, so it doesn’t always occur to me to use it until I’ve thought of other possibilities first.  I know the Reiki works because I’ve used it successfully for myself and for Jim a number of times.  And the wonderful thing about Reiki is it is not intrusive like a medicine bottle is.  I wouldn’t even necessarily have to touch Elvis to do it. 

So, when I went to bed, I just sent the Reiki to Elvis as he sat at the foot of the bed.  He lay down.  I kept sending the Reiki to him with the intention that the pain subside, the inflammation be relieved, and Elvis be able to relax and sleep peacefully.  A few moments later, Elvis was soundly asleep.  I kept the Reiki flowing for a few more minutes before cutting it off and going to sleep myself.  Elvis slept in the same place all night long.  He didn’t even wake up and accompany me to the bathroom as he usually does when I got up around 4.  He was just snoring peacefully when I came back to bed.  At 7 a.m., he woke me up with a kiss on the nose, and I petted him and loved on him as I always do.  He leaned back against me, exposing his belly for light rubbing, and then laid his head on my waist, his right ear very close to my hands, and his ear flap open, so I sent Reiki to him up close with the intent that the pain be eased and the inflammation be gone.  He was very content to lie there for several minutes.  Finally, Jim came with his harness to take him for his morning constitutional. 

Jim and I both noticed that he didn’t seem in any pain, not tilting his head in the direction of the pain nor holding his ear flap tightly.  For all practical purposes, he seems to be fine.  He is lying on the floor next to me, sound asleep and snoring contentedly while Kojak is restlessly moving around me waiting for his breakfast.  I’ll use the Reiki on him several times today as I feel the need to do so.  And maybe when he’s very relaxed, I’ll have a look at the ear.  If it’s still red, I’ll see if he will let me put the drops in. 

Sometimes when I think have the best solution to something, I haven’t truly thought my plan through.  Sometimes I just charge ahead like the proverbial bull in the china closet.  But I’ve learned something from Elvis.  Sometimes, it is to my best interest to think things through first.  I know that Elvis has a fear of being overpowered when someone is standing over him.  I forgot that last night for a moment until Elvis warned me.  I am only remembering now that the time I successfully got the drops in his ear is when I was sitting on the same level with him and he didn’t feel so threatened.  The Reiki, while very healing, is not threatening at all.  So, I’ll remember what Elvis has taught me.  At least for today.  It takes  a long time for humans sometimes.

“Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue. . . . Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, the whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who for the most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumbshows and noise; . . . it out-herods Herod: pray you, avoid it.”  ~Hamlet, Act II, Scene 2 — William Shakespeare

As I watched Elvis doing his best martial arts act on the sofa pillows, I noticed how incredibly like Po, the Kung Fu Panda, he looks.  I have not seen the movie, but I have seen Jack Black, the voice of Po, on several talk shows, and I have seen the movie previews on TV, and I have even read a couple of movie reviews because there is something appealing to me about Po, although I did not recognize what it was until I made the observation about Elvis. Now, I’m sure I have to see the movie!  Po is Elvis’ animated twin!

Elvis is a ham.  And the most endearing thing about him being a ham is that he’s totally unaware of his “haminess.”  This is just Elvis’ way.  He is really quite versatile in his antics.  One of his most affected performances is when he hears something or sees something that sends him into a frenzy of barking.  Most of the time, it’s something that the average person or pug wouldn’t even notice.  There is a Nextel commercial featuring a very light, high-pitched cell phone ringing that absolutely sends Elvis into a paroxysm of rage, “splitting the ears of the groundlings” as Shakespeare warns against.  Elvis’ bark is the antithesis of his brother Kojak’s, which sounds more like a little old man dog with laryngitis.  Kojak’s bark is annoying at best and worst, but Elvis’ bark is startling at best and terrifying at worst.  He sounds like an enraged Rottweiler.  Everything in that bark says, “I’ll tear you to shreds!”  The other day, Elvis snuck out on the porch as my son opened the door to greet his friend who was stopping by, and upon spying the young man in the driveway, he launched into that “I’ll eat you alive” tirade.  The young man rocketed back to his truck in true cartoon fashion before he even saw the chubby little dog from which that ferocious bark emanated. When he saw him wagging his tail on the outside of his truck, he grinned in embarrassment, but that’s the effect that Elvis’ bark has on people.  There is a tagline from Kung Fu Panda that shows the evil Tai Lung sarcastically asking Po, “What are you going to do?  Sit on me?”  To which Po replies, “Don’t tempt me.”  That’s about what you’d figure from Elvis, too.  There is just no ferocious temperament in him to back up that bloodthirsty bark whether he’s greeting a stranger in our yard or hearing that little cellphone ringing on TV.

On the other end of the spectrum, when Elvis is trying to gain sympathy with his whimpering, he produces the cutest, softest begging sound ever.  He sounds as if he’s been coached by a professional to elicit the most sympathy and pity from his humans. That sweet little sound, accompanied by his most wide-eyed, plaintive expression should win him an academy award nomination.  It does usually win him a baby carrot or a rawhide chip to gnaw on.  And because it works so well, he launches into that routine in a heartbeat.  He can even go from the savage bark to the piteous whine in an instant. Bravo, Elvis, Bravo!

Unlike the bark or the beg, his Kung Fu bit seems to be on certain occasions just for his own satisfaction.  I’m not sure what inspires it, but he can walk calmly into the den, stop and survey the territory, and then leap onto the sofa or loveseat and fully launch into his tumbling, twisting, tumultuous attack on the pillows. He first body slams himself into them and wallows recklessly against them.  Then he backs off panting before hurtling back into them for a somersault which often sends them flying. After a couple of these attacks, if any pillows remain, he head bumps them like a soccer pro until they sail onto the floor.  He will often end these martial arts moments lying on his back, and grinning his most satisfied upside down smile, which reminds me of a large-mouthed frog with teeth.  These particular moments with the pillows are probably for stress management, much like meditation, and he usually settles down to nap when he’s finished.  But he also uses the martial arts to conquer his stubborn humans when they refuse to obey his will.  He Kung Fu dances against me when I’m still lolling around in bed in the mornings and not hurrying to get him his breakfast.  Just this morning, I was petting him before getting up for my usual bathroom run.  I warned him as he pressed himself firmly against my full bladder not to cause me to have an accident.  No sooner had I said, “Careful, Elvis,” than he bombarded me with his very best rolling, spinning body slams, which are as much musical theater as they are martial arts.  He had me cackling with glee at his hilarious routine until he finally flung himself backwards across my body, panting with satisfaction and showing me that toothy frog grin.  He looked for all the world as if he was saying, “Now, I have you exactly where I want you.  You will bow down to the Kung Fu Master.”  Of course, I had to get up then because I needed the potty much more urgently than ever. 

I realize that Elvis’ performances are really not staged as much as they are just Elvis being Elvis, and that is why I appreciate him so much.  He may not heed Shakespeare’s advice about acting as he executes his exhibitions: “for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, the whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness.”  Instead, his renditions range from buffoonish to melodramatic, and he more often mimics those who Shakespeare so abhorred “who for the most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumbshows and noise. . .” and who overact their parts as they” out-herod Herod.”  Elvis is not capable of taking acting instruction, though.  His personality comes to him naturally, and his performances reflect it.  While Kojak sits back calmly and observes, Elvis, just like Po the Kung Fu panda, exhorts, “Get ready to feel the thunda!”

“Compassionate toward yourself, you reconcile all beings in the world.” - Lao-Tzu

One of the things I’ve learned since having Elvis with us is that pugs really do live more in the moment, in total awareness of the moment and nothing but the moment, than humans do, or at least more than I do.  I have been a Zen follower for a while, and although I can have my moments of awareness, I am by no means enlightened.  I think this is one of many blessings that Elvis has brought into my life.   Before Elvis, I had transferred a lot of my own feelings and thoughts to Kojak, never really observing Kojak for the natural being that he is.  I figured if I felt a certain way, then so must Kojak.  Elvis is enlightening me to the Tao of Pugs!

Elvis’ latest lesson for me has been in the way he perceives himself or his body image.  Of course, body image is a totally unenlightened human concept.  Why should we have to buy books and DVDs and self-help courses to accept ourselves as we are?   For all of these self image improvement techniques that I have read or viewed or listened to, Elvis managed to show me this just by being a pug.

Since we’ve had Elvis, he’s put on a bit of weight.  I believe it is because of the amitryptoline that he takes to calm him down a bit.  We’re not feeding him any more than we have since the first.  He loves having healthy vegetable snacks, especially baby carrots.  So, it has to be the medication that has caused us to have to let out his harness a good two inches over the months.  The excess girth has caused a few minor glitches in his routine, though.  For instance, he will attempt a jump onto my lap and fall just short, and  I’ll catch him and help him scramble up.  I know the weight is the problem.  He is jumping with the same effort he’s always jumped; he’s just heavier now, and the law of physics requires that he put more effort into the jump, but he doesn’t perceive that he weighs any more than he always has.  When he misses, he seems truly surprised and looks at me as if I pushed him back or something.  Also, I’ve witnessed him trying to get through spaces he used to be able to, but now he can’t.  Just this morning, he was trying to squeeze between my leg and the computer desk to get under there.  Kojak loves to do that, and Elvis used to be able to just squeeze right in there, sending Kojak out the other side.  This morning, he made the same move he’s made many times before, but he thudded to a halt because he was too wide to get through.  Again, he looked up at me as if I had stopped him.  I just patted him and called him my chubby puppy and moved my leg over so he could make it through. 

Now, I have had that same experience before.  I might walk between parked cars at the grocery store and be shocked when my hips brush up against a dirty car door.  Surely, I think to myself, I am not that wide!  So, I become immediately self conscious about my hip size and look around to see if anyone is laughing at the fat lady who can’t squeeze between cars.  So, when I first saw Elvis having these encounters with small spaces himself, I wanted to project my own body image issues onto him.  The important thing that I have learned from him is that he doesn’t need to have his feelings protected with my, “It’s okay, my chubby puppy,” nonsense.  He just wants to get through the opening.  And he doesn’t even suspect that his own size has anything to do with the problem.  Surely, it must be me holding him back!  This teaches me that when I brush up against a car in the parking lot, I should be looking to see how closely the owners of the cars have parked to the lines separating the parks, not looking around to see who is laughing at how fat I am!

Although Elvis is indeed far more enlightened than I am, he does have a bit of “human-like” naughtiness in him on occasion.  When Kojak, Elvis, and I were on our way to the kitchen for breakfast the other day, we formed our usual conga line to the food.  Elvis often lets Kojak run ahead of us because he needs a running start to make it up the step into the kitchen.  This natural order of things has resulted over time.  At first, Elvis wanted to be first.  Then, he realized that I am the head dog after all, and he let me go first, his nose bumping me along from behind to make sure I get there as fast as I can.  Neither Kojak nor Elvis can understand why I don’t gallop into the kitchen to the food the way they do.  Finally, though, Elvis has learned to back off when we step down into the den and let Kojak get ahead of both of us.  This is very magnanimous of Elvis since he does have the more dominant personality of the pack, or so I would put the human spin on it.  I believe the truth is that Elvis is just looking out for the welfare of the other pack member. 

That particular morning, though,  I took an unexpected detour to the laundry room, which set both pugs off their pace.  Kojak came running back to see why we weren’t right behind him, and Elvis had missed a beat, but successfully made the turn and was on my heels to stop off for my shirt.  While I was slipping into my shirt, the pugs circled and twirled, waiting for me to get back on the course to the kitchen, and when I started off again, both pugs made a mad dash after me.  I was in the kitchen and getting some water when it occurred to me that I was missing Kojak circling me as he does until I feed them.  Elvis never circles, but heads straight to his spot where he is fed and waits, seated, until I bring him his dish.  He is the perfect little gentleman when it’s time to eat!  I looked to see where the dogs were, and I noticed that Elvis was standing in the den at the kitchen step.  Kojak was behind him, moving first to the left to try to get around him, and then to the right.  Elvis was impassable on either side, his wide body successfully blocking Kojak’s path.  I just looked on in amusement as I waited for Elvis to jump up the step and let Kojak by.  Only he didn’t.  He just stood there.  Kojak was now going from left to right, whimpering and trying to find a way to squeeze past Elvis.  Elvis didn’t move.  Finally, Kojak barked at Elvis!  I laughed outloud when he did that because Kojak has always assumed the subservient position in the pack, but when Elvis was in the way of his path to his breakfast, Kojak didn’t mind asserting himself.  The funniest part of the situation was that Elvis still did not move when Kojak barked.  He did look back at him to see if  it was really true that Kojak was telling him to move out of the way, but he stood firm in his position.  I swear I could hear Elvis chuckling to himself!  Another few barks, and Elvis went ahead and jumped up the step, allowing Kojak entrance. 

Now I may be transferring human thought to the pugs again and assuming that Elvis was relishing his new girth that blocked the path.  I don’t think so, though.  I think Elvis was having a moment of awareness that his difficult size, which keeps him out of places he wants to go, could also have its advantages.  For just a moment, he was large and in charge and loving it.

The flower invites the butterfly with no-mind;
The butterfly visits the flower with no-mind.
The flower opens, the butterfly comes;
The butterfly comes, the flower opens.
I don’t know others,
Others don’t know me.
By not-knowing we follow nature’s course.

-   Ryokan, Dewdrops on a Lotus Leaf, 
    Translated by John Stevens

It’s 2 a.m., and I just woke up with a stabbing pain in my neck.  I tried to move, but a bony little pug butt, which belongs to Kojak,  in my back prevented me from rolling over.  I tried sitting up, but my gown, which had twisted into a tourniquet around my body wouldn’t allow it.  My upper torso  was firmly against Jim, who was sleeping blissfully on his back, all stretched out and happy, but my legs were in an unnatural position in relation to the rest of my body.  I tried to move my legs behind me to get myself aligned properly so my neck would stop aching.  The tourniquet gown prevented that, too.  I tried to move my legs further in front of me, so that I could straighten out diagonally across the bed, but I was met with a firm resistance there, too.  I reached down to feel what blocked my legs there, and felt the warm, soft side of Elvis.  With much twisting and heaving, I finally managed to extricate myself from the vise grip of my gown, so I could sit up to survey the situation.  Here’s what I saw in the dim light of the bedroom:  My pillows were in their proper place on my side of the bed.  That’s where my head had been because I could see the indentation.  Kojak was asleep with his small body horizontal to the head of the bed, about 12 inches down from the pillows, exactly where my back should have been.  His bony butt ended smack dab in the center of the space below my pillows.  About another 2 feet further down the bed was Elvis, his body also horizontal and stretching out a good 6 inches further into my sleep space than Kojak did.  As I examined the zig zag of space that my body must have been packed into, I finally understood why my neck was screaming.  I have no idea how I managed to contort myself to fit into that jagged and very small area, but I knew I couldn’t get back into it, nor did I want to.

After I got off the bed, being careful not to disturb Elvis or Kojak, I stood up and stretched my agonized spine, Kojak finally raised his head and looked at me, and I asked him, “Do you see where you are sleeping?  Do you see where Elvis is sleeping?  Do you see why I’m standing up here with no where to sleep?”  Kojak just blinked sleepily at me and crawled down to the foot of the bed, his little lame hind legs half walking, half dragging behind him, and collapsed on his quilt at the foot of the bed.  He smacked his lips a few times in that old man way that he has and went back to sleep.  That was a good answer to my irritated questions.  I will translate for you since I’m very good at Pugese:  “Okay.  I’m going to get up in the middle of the night from my comfortable sleep to accommodate you.  I just hope you appreciate all I have to go through for you.”  And can you believe it?  I felt guilty for having disturbed him!

As I am sitting out here at the computer typing while the pain is somewhat subsiding in my cervical area, I feel a warm, soft body shove past my legs to get under the desk.  I look down between my knees, and there is Elvis looking up at me.  I scoot my rolling desk chair back a few inches to reach down to pet him.  His tail wags happily.  I go back to typing, and Elvis pushes his way out from under the desk and returns to the bed to sleep.  Here’s what Elvis was saying in Pugese:  “Hey there, Mom.  I just got up to see if you were okay.  I’m going back to bed.  See you in the morning.” 

Kojak and Elvis are two of the true loves of my life.  I adore them.  They adore me.  They see no problem with getting comfortable and close up against me in the bed.  It matters not to them that they end up taking over my sleeping space.   After all, next to me is the best place in the bed unless I am too restless in my sleeping search for one length of space where my whole body, including head, torso, and legs can remain in alignment.  The alignment doesn’t even have to be perpendicular to my pillows as you would think.  I’m happy to sleep diagonally as long as I don’t twist my spine too much. 

I’m going to go back to bed now and see where I can fit in.  I hope Kojak is still at the foot of the bed on his quilt. Even with him sleeping horizontally, when he’s there, I can bend my legs and still have plenty of room.   I hope Elvis has stretched out parallel to Jim’s legs, warmed by his body heat, in a perpendicular position on the bed.  This is the position he usually starts out in, and mostly stays in, every night.  That leaves one whole delicious portion of bed for me where I can sleep in an almost normal position.  Or at least I can until Kojak decides to move back into his place parallel to my pillows, against my back or my stomach, whichever way I lie down to begin with.  I will have to move over to make room for him, of course, because there is not a space wide enough for him to sleep in that position.  I’ve tried to instruct him to just turn perpendicular to my body, so there is room for everyone, but he will drag himself off to the foot of the bed to wait for me to fall asleep.  Then he can come back up and sleep the way he wants to. 

I know some people will not understand why I put myself through this awkward sleep ballet every night, twisting and contorting in my sleep, as pugs move to make body contact with me.  Those people will say, “Why in the world do you let the dogs sleep in the bed with you to begin with?”  And to those people I reply, “They are not dogs.  They are pugs.”  Enough said.