Withdrawal is a Mutha

Yesterday I started to draft a witty, endearing entry on babies and puppies and the idiosyncrasies of the Unitarian Church (We prayed to the Easter bunny. The heck?).

I didn’t get very far. And today. . . .well, today my brain has crashed from a combination of withdrawal and sleep deprivation. Because once again, I am on a diet. And because puppies aren’t always all that cute.

Let’s start with the diet, shall we? This time, I’m trying a modified version of South Beach. Modified because, quite frankly, I don’t see the purpose in giving up fruit for two weeks. I think the reasoning has something to do with insulin levels. But, well, fruit is good for you. It’s high in fiber and vitamins and low in calories and fat. And it’s yummy. And if I’m going to give up just about everything that makes life worth living, I’m letting myself eat some damn fruit.

Feel free to place bets on when I fall off this diet.

As for the sleep deprivation, that’s courtesy of Rowen, who is fearless in a thunderstorm but becomes a basketcase if a gentle breeze rustles the cord to the vertical blinds. Rowen simply refuses to sleep with the bedroom window open. I refuse to hand over my entire paycheck to the electric company. And Austin right now? Is hot. We’re supposed to come close to, if not hit, 100 today. Which means that even at night, the apartment is stuffy unless I open a window or turn on the air conditioning.

Besides being neurotic, Rowen is spoiled. My fault, I know. But she’s gotten used to getting into bed with me at night. She usually doesn’t stay there all night---and sometimes she doesn’t bother getting in at all---but she expects to be invited up regardless. But when it is 90 degrees and I’m getting only the slightest breeze through the window, I’m not inclined to invite her or any other warm body into my bed. It’s too hot and my bed is too small.

So with not being invited into bed and having the window open, Rowen was in a mood. First, she tried staring me down. I’ve learned to resist that trick. Then she tried a sneak attack by squeezing herself under the nightstand (which is the same height as her) and through the approximately six-inch gap between the top of the nightstand and the mattress. Which she did manage to do. How, I will never understand. She, however, did not manage the “sneak” part of the attack. One, because she plotted her attack with her nose resting less than an inch from mine, so I could kind of smell her coming. Two, because although she apparently possesses more gymnastic skill than I thought, she does not have a bit of grace and set both the mattress and the nightstand rocking as she wriggled up.

Her triumph was short lived, as I pushed her straight off the other side of the bed. So then she started with the pawing, wherein she only puts half her body on the bed (because that’s not really breaking the rules, right?) so that she can paw at my arms and head, apparently believing that I do want to let her into the bed, I’ve just misunderstood her earlier attempts and if she just makes her intentions very clear, I’ll give her the “up” command. Instead, this got her a time out in the crate.

After being released from time out, Rowen finally gave up on getting into the bed but decided that if she couldn’t rest peacefully in the bed, neither would I. So she started a maniacal pacing. She would start each round with a drink of water from the bowl in her crate at the foot of the bed. Then went to the sliding glass doors in the living room (where she had to bang into the blinds each time) then back into the bedroom, into the bathroom, then past the bed again to her cowering corner (a tiny, barely accessible corner of the bedroom, blocked in by books and the nightstand and nowhere near big enough for her to be comfortable but apparently safe from the scary breeze), where she would sit for a second or two and then repeat the entire sequence. She did this for at least half an hour. I tried to ignore her; I even took her collar off so I wouldn’t have to listen to the jangle of her tags.

But, eventually, of course, I relented. I shut the window and turned on the a/c. About two and a half hours after I initially went to bed.

Any bets on whether I learned my lesson or whether I’ll spend another two hours trying to discipline Rowen only to give in to her demands? Maybe if I give her a peanut-butter-filled Kong right before bed . . . .