Puppy Nights

With our last two dogs, we kept their crates in our basement.  The two boys never seemed to mind. It was their man cave. It smelled like dogs, and they were okay with that.  At night, they had each other for company. As he got older, Boo decided that a crate was not his preferred sleeping arrangement.  He greatly preferred the couch. As he was advancing in years, we decided we could allow him that luxury. McGee, the quintessential rule follower, never complained.  In fact, he continued to love his crate even after Boo upgraded to Couch. All Nancy had to do was switch off the TV in the family room, and obedient McGee would scurry to his crate and plop down for a good night’s sleep.  

We were hoping that would be the arrangement for Farley.  Nancy happened to mention our plan to the woman who had found Farley for us.  She said that most people think it’s best to set up the crate in the room where we sleep.  Oh. Really? I was not thrilled with this information. However, Nancy thinks very highly of this person.  She was also the person who arranged our adoption of McGee. We feel that we owe her our gratitude and some deference. So, we now have a crate set up in our bedroom.

The first night, Farley, who loved his crate during the day, had a different impression when the door was shut at night.  He whined. He barked. He pawed at the door. He whined and barked some more. Hmm. Where was my little rule follower when I needed him? We let him carry on. I was not going to break on the first night. It took him 45 minutes to settle down.  Then, he slept through the whole night.  

The next night went even better.  He whined. He barked. He whined some more.  But after 15 minutes, he flopped on his side and slept the rest of the night.

So, it was with great optimism that I closed the door  on Farley’s crate last night. Sure enough, with barely a whimper, he was off to sleep.  It may have helped that we had taken three walks yesterday.

However…at 3:30 a.m., I was awakened by the disconcerting sound of a dog preparing to throw up.  I sprang out of bed, perhaps a bit too fast, and ushered him out the porch door. It turned out that the noise I heard was more like a sneeze-cough.  Farley’s stomach was fine. Now, though, the problem was that I was not going to be able to get him back into his crate. He was wide awake and ready to play.  Very ready. He flashed his puppy pose, gigantic paws stretched out in front, back arched inward, and rear end pointed toward the sky. ..which happened to be where my eyes were gazing as I asked myself why, why, I had jumped out of bed so fast.

Yes, if I put him in his crate now, he would bark for at least 45 minutes, making sure to ruin everyone’s night.  If I tried it and it failed, and I took him out, he would learn the wrong lesson, that barking gets him out. Even in my groggy state, I knew that would be a bad idea.  I decided to take him downstairs and close the doors. I flopped on the couch. He stood staring at me in disbelief. “Why aren’t we playing? Shouldn’t you be fetching my breakfast?  You’re not going back to sleep are you?” 

I let him know that indeed I was going to try.  He did his best to engage me, but I kept my eyes closed.  Finally, he joined me on the couch, which he proceeded to hog.  He snored contentedly for the rest of the night, as I had flashbacks to early fatherhood. 

Tonight he may whine and bark and whine and bark, and possibly even barf…but I plan to be snoring contentedly or ignoring persistently.  Check back tomorrow for the next installment.

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