Things That Go Barf In The Night


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I have difficulty sleeping because my dog shares my bed. When I say “shares, ” I mean he assigns me a tiny space on the edge where I must hang on with my toenails to keep from falling out. Louie stretches out sideways in the middle of the bed and hogs the pillow, growling in his sleep if I try to claim a corner of it for myself.

The worst part about sleeping with Louie is the racket his stomach makes. Like the ghost of Jacob Marley, it haunts my dreams. The gurgles, growls, and roars are loud enough to break the smell barrier. Sometimes I wake up to so much noise I think I’m in the middle of Mardi Gras.

The other night, when I finally managed to go to sleep, I had a dream that started out great. I was happily driving my hot pink Cadillac convertible to a rubber stampers’ convention. Out of nowhere came another car and bam! I ran right into it. A policeman arrived on the scene within seconds - because he was driving the car I hit. Boy, was I glad to wake up from THAT dream!

Many of my dreams end badly. That’s because Louie not only torments me during waking hours; but he crashes my dreams and ruins those too. I hate it when he has seizures, asthma attacks, and digestive disturbances in the middle of the night. It’s hard to sleep with someone jerking, hacking, and wheezing in your ear. Especially when that someone’s breath smells like an anchovy cannery. Somehow, what’s going on in my conscious world gets mixed up with my unconscious thoughts and incorporated into my dream.

It’s REALLY annoying when this happens during the best part of a Mel Gibson dream! The scenario goes something like this:

Mel: “I beg of you. You must be my leading lady. * Cough. * No one else can take your place. ”

Me: “Oh, Mel. You’re making me blush!”

Mel: * Wheeze* “I must have you. * Snort* If you refuse, I’ll go on a hunger strike. . . . HAAAAACK!”

Me: “What was that Mel? I didn’t catch that last part. ”

Mel: “Hornnnk! Gag. Honnnkkk!”

Me: “Mel, you smell like a pig farmer’s boots – hey! Don’t lick my face,

Mel. Wait, what are you doing? Not on my pillow!”


Then I usually awake in time to catch Louie hacking up cricket legs, bits of candy wrapper, or the half-digested remains of a paper plate.

I hate having my sleep disrupted, because the ONLY hope I have of meeting Mel Gibson is in my dreams. I do a lot of other impossible things in my dreams too, like flying without an airplane, and walking around in the mall wearing nothing but my underwear. Now how come Louie doesn’t interrupt THOSE dreams?

Marsha Jordan
Author of “Hugs, Hope, and Peanut Butter"


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