The biggest night of our lives so far began with us on the living room couch, watching the eleven o'clock news. While the sports report was on, instead of leading Libro away to my writing studio and his fluffy bed, I simply changed into my nightgown and brushed my teeth. Libro jumped off the couch and followed me, watching the clothes-changing and toothbrushing with what I thought was wonder.
I went into the bedrom, got into bed, turned the reading light on, and pulled up the covers. He apparently couldn't belive the forbidden territory was suddently okay. He approached tentatively, first in a chin at the bed's edge, eyes questioning, then a hoist, front legs up, a lift, back legs up. All of him stood on the seersucker quilt, asking, What now? I let him lie beside me and turned out the light.
He snuggled closer, back against me. I put an arm across his shoulders and drifted away, only to be starled awake by a deep bass snore, then a wheeze, then another. I did what I would do with any male, turned him over. He licked my face. I drifted away, accommodating the snoring, but an acrid smell yanked me awake again. Peter would sometimes crawl into bed after I was asleep, reeking of beer, but this was a smell more sour, more scatological. I willed myself asleep. I woke. He licked. He wheezed. He farted. He got up and shook his body. The metal tags hanging from his collar clanked me awake again. He lay down and then got up.
When he stepped on me, it was over. I loved him, but I also loved a good night's sleep. He let me take him to his own bed in my study as though he'd known all along that it was his real place. We never spoke of what had happened.
Fra side 68 i memoaren Bark if You Love Me av Louise Bernikow.