This Way to Crazy
Y'all know Bo. Everyone knows Bo. But what you probably didn't know, what I have managed to keep a secret from almost everyone, including El Dukay, is that every night before Bo goes to (my) bed, he demands a glass of water.
But, not water out of a bowl. No. Bowl water is unacceptable, you idiot.
What Bo wants, what Bo needs before he goes to sleep, EVERY NIGHT, is water in a glass. And if you don't GIVE him water in a glass, he perches on the edge of the bed, gazing towards the bathroom, and whiiiiiiiines.
Whiiiiiine. Whimper. Whine whine.
That is what he does, with increasing volume, and with those big, brown puppy dog eyes filled with sadness. And, if you don't notice this heartbreaking display, like if you are, I don't know, ASLEEP, he will climb up your body and stick his cold, wet nose up your nostrils until you are DEFINITELY NOT ASLEEP, NOPE, I'M UP, and then he will run down to the end of the bed and resume the whining.
He doesn't look at you at this point, because he is too busy saying, "Ohhhh, WOE. WOE and MISERY. Bo has been gazing at this bathroom for HOURS without moving. Bo has not moved at all, and it definitely was not Bo just sticking Bo's cold wet nose into your nostril. It couldn't have been Bo, because Bo is just too weak...and growing...weaker...with no...water [cough cough]...Bo will probably...die...soon."
So you give in and get up, and you stumble into the bathroom, and you fill up a glass of water for His Royal Highness of Short and Brown, who is SO THRILLED, OH THANK THE HEAVENS, THERE WILL BE WATER, and he bounces and leaps and jumps with joy, all the way over to the sink, where he bounces and leaps as you fill the glass, and OH THIS IS SO EXCITING. And so you return and place the glass on the floor, and he bounces and leaps over to the glass, and then:
Bo stops leaping, looks at you, and says: What is this? Is this...water? Bo doesn't really want any water.
So you say: Oh, buddy, you are going to DRINK that fucking water.
And Bo says: Bo isn't sure. Maybe.
So, now we have a stalemate. And you stand there, and Bo sniffs the water, and looks at you, like, "Is this all you are offering Bo? Is that the only thing that comes out of sink? Because Bo would prefer a hotdog. Or a kitten. Do you have a kitten? For to play with Bo?" until finally, he DEIGNS to take a few tentative laps, looking at you all the while, like OH, the things Bo has to do to keep Mom happy. Poor Bo. Bo's work is never done.
And this is what I go through, every night, every night, so that fourteen pounds of sheer, evil willpower will go to sleep in my own bed. And last night, while I was doing this in front of a thoroughly perplexed El Dukay, I could just imagine him thinking, "Huh. This is...yeah, this is not good."
So, for all of y'all out there, who send me emails about how I'm going to be that crazy dog lady when I'm old? About how I'm going to have dogs instead of children, and always smell vaguely of Milkbone? Too late, my friends. As of now, it is officially too late. I recommend that you all invest in Iams.
And I would say more, but someone is staring at me, because really. Bo's ears can't scratch THEMSELVES, now can they?
Everyone have a great weekend!
P.S.: On a totally unrelated note, I need to thank y'all for nominating me for the Snarkiest Blog Award over at the Best of Blogs. (I'm going to assume that "snark" is a synonym for "drunk." Because...isn't it?) If y'all want to vote in my category, here is the link to do so. And, I think Bo has promised never to bite people who vote, but that is just a rumor I heard.