Skip to main content

Things that go woof in the night. And why 174 is an amazing number.

Insomnia. We are all familiar with its after effects - that head-full-of-fog feeling; the fuzzy ringing in your ears and eyes puffily reminiscent of a myxematous rabbit; an all-body sensation of heaviness and of wading through treacle; a mouth that is disconnected from the brain; and a craving for caffeine and sugar, plus a cold shower, or snow settling on the face ... or pain - in fact, anything that might jolt you back into wakefulness.

Wakefulness - a state of untrammelled alertness that exists only in the world of the childless, temporarily childless, empty nesters ... and those who don't share their home with Bertie Baggins.

While I lay claim to the world's only fail-safe method for dealing comprehensively with sleepless nights in children - stop worrying about it (you'll miss those midnight sleepy cuddles one day and in sixteen years' time you'll be grateful just to know where your child is at 2am!") and simply wait for them to grow up - I profess that I am at a loss over what to do with a sleep-disturbing dog.

The internet is full of ideas -

  • have a good routine, particularly for meal-times 
  • consider diabetes ... well, I have and he's not thirsty, isn't peeing more than usual and his weight is stable, so if the symptoms of diabetes in dogs are the same as in humans, I don't think that's his problem
  • could he be anxious? ... What about?! He's a dog. He probably does worry about where his next meal is coming from and more urgently when, but even if he is worrying about something, am I ever likely to discover what it is? He's not going to tell me. Is he? 
  • might he have arthritis? - apparently this is a 'common cause of insomnia' in older dogs (... I may not tell the big boss about this prospect just yet!) but it can be managed with heat pads. Well, just in case, I have anticipated this early and given Bertie Baggins his very own heat pad ... his uncle. They have shared a crate for the past week, which resulted in silence for the first two nights, then the insomnia resurfaced and we were back to the old 4a.m. routine. To gauge how I look at that time in the morning, I just have to glance at Four-legged-friend - the effort of lifting his head off the ground, as he strains to open his eyes screams "Really!? He's woken me again!?"
  • or might Bertie Baggins be so pumped full of adolescent energy and so un-exausted by his (sometime-) daily saunter with Four-legged-friend and I, that his neurones all start to spark in the middle of the night and he has to jump around, bark and go out to run off some energy. Thus, I resolve that before I take him to the vet to beg for sleeping pills, I shall daily drain the energy out of him.

So we went for a walk today


Butter wouldn't melt!

He ran, skipped, chased rabbits, disappeared through a hedge, splashed around in muddy puddles, fetched bits of apple thrown for him and tried valiantly to persuade Four-legged-friend to chase him. We marvelled at his energy and walked slowly on.


And, on the subject of walking, remember my entry from last week?

walking-wondering-and-not-walking-at-all

and its reference to this?

orianaproject.wordpress.com


If you were wondering why '174 is an amazing number' (see title), that is because it is the number of wheelchairs delivered by this wonderful project. Which makes it a fab number! Utterly brilliant! And for their next project ... they want to build a school. Humbling, isn't it? Something to ponder in the wee small hours. ...


Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Colour, Delacroix, flochetage and why don't we all have a go at inventing words

Yes - it is a real word. Flochetage. Well, a real-ish word. One invented by the painter Delacroix, when he found the dictionary cupboard bare and required a word to describe his technique of layering different coloured paints, using lightly pulled brush strokes to create texture and pattern and thereby enhance his base-layer colours (... lost? - stick around, read on and all will become clear. Or perhaps muddier ...). Flochetage implies both stringiness and threadiness. Apparently. And it sounds good - in a filling-the-mouth-with-sound sort of a way. Try it ... flochetaaaage. Not that I speak French. So I am probably mis-pronouncing it. Nor am I an artist. So what do I know about painting techniques - except that I think this one works. What I do like is the concept - you invent a new technique in whatever it is you do, hunt around for the vocabulary to describe it, find the dictionary is lacking, so make up a word of your own and announce to the world what it means. Delacroix isn...
Post a Comment
Read more

Curlews, summer skies and walking in circles.

Summer skies over the Yorkshire Dales and my mind is set to rest mode. But that rest is not totally restful; there is a niggle ... a memory, a hint of childhood, something that unsettles slightly - a light brush stroke of discomfort; a gossamer breath of discombobulation and a 'Woah! Wait a moment!' moment of 'that's-not-right!' - we're about as far from the sea as it is possible to be in middle Britain and yet, I can hear the distinctive Peep! Peep! of oystercatchers and the piercing cry of curlew. Here -  in the blue skies of the North Yorkshire dales and along the footpaths - and above the endless miles of drystone walls are birds that should be at the coast.  Oystercatchers, with their distinctive red pliers attached to their heads feed on - you've guessed it - oyster beds. All along the coastline of the British Isles, their distinctive cry is the call of summer. Drowned out somewhat by the banter of seagulls but sharp and ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Heaven clearly can't wait. Ranting and screaming inside. Growing old and lecturing ... myself, mostly.

What follows should come with a warning - it is a preachy rant. Stop now if you're not in the mood for a lecture. Or, if you're into procrasti-reading, read on and (hopefully) enjoy my latest piece of procrasti-writing. Apologies too for the reference to elderly leakages. And farts. And now, for being deeply irreverent. Sorry. Heaven  can't  wait. Meatloaf was wrong. Clearly the 'band of Angels' is impatiently putting together a gig. There's a party happening which we haven't been invited to. Yet. What a terrible year 2016 has been, so far. And we are barely dipping our winter-wrapped toes into Spring. Is it that the roll-call of those summoned to a higher place grows ever more poignant as we age? Prince was but a few years older than me. Victoria Wood, a meaningless number of years older still. Meaningless because what does age mean astride the long plateau of middle age before the eventual slide into decrepitude? A few years here, a few there - we...
Post a Comment
Read more