Four-legged bed partners getting all the attention

Let me set the bedtime scene. We live in a log house nestled in the pine trees halfway up mile-high Hall Mountain in northern Idaho. Our king-size bed features one of those cushy, pillow-top mattresses covered with flannel sheets and a lofty goose down comforter 6 inches thick when fluffed. At night when we get ready for bed, we crack open a window to let in the pine scented night air and the soothing sounds of the crickets and toads that serenade our pending slumber.

On opposite sides of the bed, my wife and I fluff our respective feather pillows, lift up the comforter and get comfortable as we prepare to sleep nose-to-nose with our respective partner. Four legged, hairy partners that is, with more than a hint of doggy breath!

My, have things changed in our 26 years of marriage. In the early years, I was like a tom cat possessed, always on the prowl for a little loving. My wife, Teresa, was receptive more often than not, and she loved to kiss, nuzzle and cuddle.

Then we got pets and our love life took a back seat to rituals involving our new bed partners – our pets.

In the early years, Teresa would dress seductively for bed, for me, in something as transparent as cellophane. Now, because she claims she wants to keep her designer mutt Quixote, a papillion/poodle/Yorkie cross warm, she wears pajamas that make body armor seem delicate in comparison.

We used to prowl the four corners of the king size, wrestling, tickling, getting frisky. Now, after we each settle in with our respective partners, Teresa with 1-year-old Quixote and myself with the hairy princess, Scooter, a 14-year-old wirehaired fox terrier, we stay firmly planted on our respective sides of the bed engaging in four-play rather than foreplay.

Personal comfort was everything in the early years of marriage as we spooned, sprawled out and rotated seeking the softest, warmest spot of the bed. Now we let the pets dictate where we sleep then position ourselves in a semi-paralytic state lest we move to relieve a cramp or pull up the comforters and not let “sleeping dogs lie!”

Speaking of pet positions in bed, whatever happened to those images of pets curled up, nose to tail, in a compact, contented crescent of fur? Pets have seemingly lost this ability as they sprawl out making themselves as long as possible with their lolling tongues hanging out one end and their tails beating like a slow pentameter on the other. In the Becker house we have a name for it – furban sprawl.

And during the night it goes from bad to worse. Now that I’m older than 40, my prostate and bladder (P&B) are conspiring to make sure I don’t sleep the night without visiting the porcelain throne. My P&B persist, but I resist, as I know if I get up to go to the bathroom, Quixote, Scooter, or both, will move over to occupy my warm depression without the least bit of hesitation or guilt. They’re not bed dogs, they’re bed hogs!

Lastly, we still have the same alarm clock we got as a wedding present. Although old, it’s almost in mint condition as we don’t use it. Why? Because we have pets that wake us up, like clockwork, because they’re hungry, thirsty, need to do their business or sense imaginary movement outside the bedroom.

In the end, the pets rise fully rested after having slept 18 of the last 24 hours while Teresa and I get ready to drag ourselves out of bed in chronic sleep deprivation. But as Quixote and Scooter lick our faces, delight us with their antics and wiggle with delight, we smile “the smile,” only pet lovers can appreciate.

Our love life may be past its prime, our bodies may ache for a great night’s sleep, but we wouldn’t have it any other way.