This article was written for Annabel & Grace, which is now part of Rest Less.
I was lying in bed last night when I was roused by a kind of ‘thrump’. This noise was followed by a small, almost soundless wail. Immediately I jumped out of bed and, in the darkness, went to peer at Arthur’s corner of the bedroom where his bed was. I knew I mustn’t laugh, but it was difficult. It was clear that, rolling over on his pillow, he had overshot and rolled out of bed, finding himself unceremoniously dumped on the carpet. This new position did not impress Arthur.
Pushing himself up into the sitting position, he trembled, snorted loudly and shook his head, clearly a bit disorientated and still half asleep. I sat on the floor and pulled him into my lap. Steadying him against my body with my left arm, I gently ruffled his ears with my right hand. Talking softly, I said: “Did you fall out of bed, baby boy? It’s ok, I’m here!”. I felt him relax against me, and he pushed his face into my hand, resting against my chest. We sat in the darkness, myself giving comfort, which he responded to.
Listening to the soft, rhythmical sound of Arthur’s breathing, eyes closed, I was taken back to another incident about falling out of bed in the nighttime.
Some time ago my friends invited me to stay at their house in Spain for a holiday. I took the train to their house. We could then all leave in the morning together to travel to the airport. These friends had four rescue dogs.
The little Jack Russell could be problematic, but we had bonded over some cheese some years earlier. We were now firm friends. Their two lurchers were absolute sweeties. Their only failing was that, in spite of their large size, they thought they were lap dogs. As soon as you sat down, they would push and shove each other in their attempts to sit on top of you. Woe betide if you were trying to hold a cup of anything. The only way to stop their shenanigans was to stand up with a firm “No!” But that wasn’t always easy when wedged tightly underneath the pair of them, flattened against the cushions.
This, though, was nothing when it came to their fourth dog. Rescued from Ireland, this little Patterdale had the coat of a pan scourer and a temperament to match. Seriously ill-treated and with a mass of wounds, scars, open sores and burns all over his body. It had taken my friends weeks to be able to handle him without a muzzle. A year on, he was still pushing boundaries with them daily. He could not be trusted by anybody else except for their dog sitter.
Now I’m not afraid of dogs, but I do have a healthy respect for them. When a dog has been very badly treated, he may often be left with behavioural problems. These problems might always need to be managed. At this stage, the rules were simple: ‘Don’t look at him, don’t touch him, don’t share a sofa with him, don’t try to move him or enter or leave a room without either of my friends being present’. Ummm, not easy, but ok, I could handle that.
We had a pleasant evening, then said goodnight, and I entered the spare bedroom. Tossing and turning, sleep eluding me, I eventually decided I needed to use the bathroom. Leaving my room, I shut the door behind me. I crossed the landing and went into the loo, turning no lights on. Finished, I padded back to my room but noticed that my door was now wide open.
On entering, everything seemed fine until I got into bed. Almost immediately, I heard a low, menacing growl. I froze. Within the blink of an eye, their Patterdale jumped onto the bed in one bound. He tried to take a chunk out of my shoulder. In order to evade him, I rolled quickly off the edge of the bed into the space between the mattress and the wall. I was face down on the carpet. Like an eel, I had to crawl on my belly as fast as I could, under the bed and out the other side.
Standing up and ready to defend myself, I looked at the bed. Stretched out in the warm patch, partially under the covers looking like butter wouldn’t melt, was the Patterdale. He looked as if butter would not melt. I took a step forward and, using my sternest voice, said: “Down!” In response, I got a deep, throaty growl with a curled lip before turning his back on me. Remembering the rules, I knew that it wasn’t happening, and so reluctant to wake my friends, grabbed a blanket and went downstairs to the sofa. My friends woke me up the next morning in fits of laughter as they found the Patterdale fast asleep in my bed and me, under a heap of lurchers on the sofa, a small Jack Russell asleep on my head.
Holding Arthur now in the darkness, I had to chuckle as I remembered that wretched little Patterdale. They did eventually get him to a point where we could make friends, and I could stroke him, but it took a long time. I, on the other hand, felt sympathy for Arthur falling out of bed, even if, in my case, I had thrown myself out of it. Popping him gently back on his cushion, I stroked his head as he drifted back off to sleep so that job done, I could return to mine. Harmony restored, I pulled up the quilt. No sofa and cushions this time.