At Three O'Clock in the Morning, Movies are Generally Good

When I awaken early in the morning as I am prone to do, my clouded vision requires a prescribed fix. Before Essie laid claim to my house, I could keep a tube of lubricant for my eyes on the shelf above my head. But now that I have become the property of this manipulative, neurotic little shit, my life swirls around hers. And sadly I have become dependent upon a little-four-legged critter with such beautiful soft curly hair. If I am not protective of anything within a five-foot circle of her, I find them on my living room floor, or back yard chewed into little pieces. That is except for my wardrobe which she displays for my very silent and distancing neighbors only during rain or snow storms or when the sprinklers are on. Remember when I bought the bagful of white athletic socks? Essie reminds me of her superiority by plopping them in my backyard a pair at a time, sometimes folded and at times as if they came from the store. I don't know where she gets them, and frankly, it still pisses me off. I'm not angry with Essie. I'm pissed because I don't know where she keeps her stash. I know she is smarter, faster and a lot cuter than I, but she doesn't have to rub it in, my feelings are close to the surface, and besides bruising easily, my emotions are fragile. So taking all of this into consideration, I no longer get angry with her. She has figured out a way for me to be disappointed with her antics and only angry with my failures. And now the big announcement, Essie is now "House Broken," for want of a better word. Essie is still on a quest of dumping her doggie dodo on Carolyn's very costly living room carpet. But she now excels at telling me when she has completed her duty right in front of the focal point of the living room, the fireplace. Essie manages to hit the blue and white piddle pads about ninety percent of the time, followed by her enthusiastic hammering on my vital parts with her keen nose. That is the way she communicates achievements. Even though I have gone to the trouble of moving her piddle pads, she will still hit that same spot in front of the fireplace.

Today the carpet is just a bit damp since the Blue Bell Carpet Man completed his monthly visit early yesterday afternoon. I try to move the piddle pads in the direction of the outdoor privy, but I've done too good of a job allowing Essie to pick her drop zone. The area in front of the fireplace draws Essie to return again and again and again, day or night. Night or day. I know why Essie prefers that spot. Essie has become a very spiritual sort of a creature. "This the most beautiful fireplace I have ever built," was the blessing my builder whispered upon completion. The tiled fireplace extends twenty-five feet to the ceiling. I had commissioned a local artist to paint scene branches of a tree and on the branches a handful of White Doves. The tiles are made to look like just another twenty-foot tall window. I had the picture done to remind my wife and me of brilliant White Doves that came near us when times were tough, that our life's journey was not entirely our effort. For Essie to pick this spot in front of this beautiful structure, it must be a sort of a religious experience. Now Essie being spiritual and religious, there is going to have to be a reckoning because it all started after I had her neutered.

Now, this is the kind of stuff I come up with when I wake up at three in the morning, the TV mumbling away, and can't find anything to watch that is Good. Or, it could be some Melatonin flashback.