Lessons in Sleeping

Our mornings are predictable. The alarm goes off, then it goes off again after a tap or two on the snooze button, and finally I get up. I am the only one who gets up. I make coffee, I whistle when it's ready, and then Ann and I sit and read the newspaper -- she with hard copy, me on the computer.

Sometimes, when I whistle for Ann, Rubin comes, too, but lately he's taken to staying in bed. Our bed, not his. Ann called him up on the bed last night right when we crawled in. "I haven't spent much time with him lately," which was true yesterday, but not recently. No matter. She got Rubin on the bed and then called him up as close as he could get. He chose to spread out on her belly. 35 pounds of dog stretched out on Ann's belly -- get the picture?

I fell asleep quickly, but when I woke later, Rubin was stretched out at the bottom the bed and Ann was curled around her pillows. When I got up this morning, Rubin was splayed out over my legs, on his back, with his paws relaxed and bouncing with his every heavy breath. An hour later -- after the whistle and the coffee and the newspapers -- he was still in bed.

Ann went upstairs to take a shower, I began work on one of my two freelance writing jobs, and still, Mr. Rubin stayed in bed. After awhile, I heard Ann laugh so I headed upstairs to look for myself. He had not moved since the last time I saw him (when I woke up), his paws still in the air and his body stretched the full width of the bed. Ann covered him with the comforter and he sneezed slightly, but did not move considerably.

Ann and I headed downstairs and eventually, EVENTUALLY he followed. Now he is asleep again under the desk, curled up like a deer in the tall grass. I wish I could sleep this well. I wake up at least twice every night and I'm somehow unable to sleep past 6:30 even on the weekends. Perhaps I should try stretching out the width of the bed with my arms and legs in the air. That just might do the trick.