That Girl Moment #981: Puppy Power.

I am beginning to rethink my desire for a dog.

The family with whom I live part-time just recently got a St. Bernard puppy. Her name is Riley and she has helped me realize several things. For example, I now know why St. Bernards in all the movies have that little barrel filled with Grandpa's cough medicine. It's not for warming people in the dead of winter.


It's for the nerves.


You see, last night (or early this morning--I hung out with the girls at church until a very late hour) and when I finally got to the T's house, I collapsed on the couch, thankful for sleep. However, during what I am sure was my deepest cycle of REM, I was rudely awakened by a noisy neighbor. Since Riley came to stay, her kennel is on the other side of the wall, which is normally not a big deal. But last night for some reason, Riley was in distress.

The next thing I have learned about St. Bernards (and most other dogs) is that there are different kinds of sounds made by them depending on what is going on and/or what kinds of doggy voices they hear in their heads. For example, when they have the opportunity to enjoy a Beggin' Strip if they "sing" (my friends Amber and Shayne do this with their dog and Hershey the black lab makes noises that give dolphins a headache all the way in the ocean. Seriously I shook my head and could not quite figure out why they reward him for making such an incredibly obnoxious noise. Sweet niblets, it's like slipping money to Lamb Chop, God Rest her soul, under the table to do yet another rendition of the song that doesn't end.

Turns out Riley has some different noises she likes to make at 330 AM. Here is a bulleted list for you.

• Regular bark-the only normal noise Riley makes
• Regular bark with a twist of whine
• "Whine with Cheese" --an emphatic, pay attention to me whine
• "Primitive Puppy"- a high-pitched sort of moan that would make anyone cry with her
• which brings me to "The Waterworks"--a miserable sort of grief stricken form of Primitive Puppy
• "Father Howling Mysteries" (loved the show by the way)-the half-howl, half-whimper emitted from a low key to a high key
• Damsel in Distress--the "a raccoon is getting me and you need to come save me before I become a rabid bloody mess" kind of sound

This is pretty much the order of Riley's sounds last night. By the time it got to the Damsel, I knew something had to be done. I was concerned for her welfare.

Since I had removed my contact lenses as I do every night before going to bed, I could not see anything. My prescription is a -5.75 and that's on a good day. This was the dead of night and I could see a glimmer of a big fur ball in the kennel only by the light of the moon.

Oh, and did I mention that I wasn't wearing pants?

Don't judge, Bloggerotsky. I was tired and didn't want to wake the whole house up in order to find my pj pants. Don't worry. They have a fence.

that may not justify my decision to walk onto the back patio sans pants but please know that Riley had given me the Damsel call and I was worried about some nocturnal creature ripping her to absolute shreds and oh the carnage that would ensue. In my mind, going pantsless was of life or death importance to Riley and for future generations, as 4Him would say.

I quickly went to the screened in porch to check on Riley. I wouldn't actually have to go outside! I turned on the light, saw no sign of raccoons or other ugly and unsavory characters, and flipped the light back off. I went back to my cozy bed and shut my eyes.

For two blissful minutes, all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even The Dog. Miss Riley Cujo Thompson was safe in her happy place, the kennel of joy. At least that's the way we act when she goes in.

Until.

Until she came up with another noise of which I was formerly unaware.

Since I am now fully awake and in a better humor, I will not tell you what I called that noise last night. I will only tell you that I gave that noise a moniker of brilliance just now.

I call it "DJ SouthPaw" because Riley was playin' the kennel like Run DMC at the turntable. As in, she was taking her paw nails as I call them, and scraping them across the bottom of the cage.

Nails on a chalkboard people. I needed that barrel stat.

I threw off my covers in a fit of rage and walked outside. I had only a small amount of compassion for Riley simply because I knew what it was like to have to pee pee and hold it. So I opened the kennel and took Riley by the collar over to 'the area' where she is allowed to do her business. I stood there as I expected her to show her gratitude by making it quick as hello I was in my skivs and such. But no. Of course not. She looked up and me and I think she may have grinned in her St. Bernard puppy way but I can't be sure because hello I didn't have my contacts in. Then she took off toward the pool. She drank a little pool water and I went after her. First I prayed that God would help me to spare her life at this really UNgodly hour and then I hustled behind her. She ran away to her water bowl where she proceeded to drink enough water to float the Ark again and by then I was hopping mad, blind as a bat, still without pants, and considering if dogs were also covered under the Ten Commandments.

Lord have mercy it was a sight.

I grabbed her somewhat half-heartedly by the collar and she twisted out of my grasp.

Riley thought it was playtime.

She began to dodge every movement I made and bark very loudly. I was trying to keep her quiet to keep her from waking up the rest of the family and thus seeing me in my skivs trying to corral this perturbing pupkin. As if it wasn't awkward enough.

Finally somehow by the grace of God I took hold of her collar after narrowly avoiding her puppy teeth as she wrestled to play, and jerked her pulled her gently into her kennel. I promptly walked inside, shut off the lights and returned to my cozy bed.

I wasn't there for more than 30 seconds when DJ Paw started her house party again. But this time I closed my eyes and let it lull me to sleep.