My bedtime routine is pretty consistent. I start to fall asleep in my chair, someone tells me to go to bed, and I eventually drag myself in that direction, stopping first in the kitchen to put my empty wine glass in the sink and then to nudge Marcel to come with me.
We both sluggishly amble to the bedroom, and then I always have to tell him to get on the bed. It’s not like he hasn’t been doing the same thing for nine years. But, for some reason, he stands at the bottom of the bed, just looking at me until I encourage him to get up. Only then will he leap up to the footstool that is next to the hope chest which is at the bottom of the bed. Hey, I had to make him a bit of a stairway to get up. He’s small and the bed is tall.
Once he gets on the bed, I head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I can see my bed from where I stand, and I always look in that direction when I hear the scratching. Every night, Marcel walks from the bottom of the bed to the top near my pillow. And every night, he scratches, turns around a few times, and settles cozily right in the spot where I sleep.
Then, he always looks over to me as if to ask, “tonight?” And every night, I walk to the bed, tickle him under his little chin, and tell him, “not tonight. Move your ass over.”
Ah, little Marcel. Hope springs eternal.
He’s never upset, and he never tries to stay there. He simply gets up and heads back to his corner of the bed and settles in for the night.
I can’t help but wonder why he continues to do the same thing, night after night, only to be told no, but I have a few thoughts. That section of the bed has my scent, it has the indentation of my body, and it has my pillow. In other words, it is my space. Marcel is not an alpha, so I don’t think that he is trying to claim his territory. The look he gives me once he is comfortable isn’t one of challenge. It’s one of questioning, of permission. He wants to know if I am good with him lying there. He seems to want to simply share that space with me.
We have a special relationship. Several years ago, I experienced unemployment for the first time in my adult life. The kids were away at school, and hubby was busy working as much as possible to make up for the gap in our finances. I spent a lot of time at home alone with just my thoughts, and, as a person who (probably too closely) aligns her self-worth with her work can tell you, that can be a dangerous place to be. I literally would find myself wandering without purpose, just trying to find things to do. I was job hunting, but I was also trying to understand better who I am and what I need. In introspection, I found myself lacking more often than not.
It was a dark time emotionally.
The best I could do is try and maintain a routine. Get up early, have tea, start “working,” finish the day hours later feeling defeated, watch tv and drink wine until bedtime, rinse and repeat.
But next to my desk was a little round tufted footstool. We use it as a photo prop every so often, but, most of the time, it has no purpose and it doesn’t really belong anywhere in the house, so it lives next to my desk. I discovered during this time, however, that it was just low enough to the ground that little Marcel could easily jump on it and take a nap.
So that became our routine. When he saw me sit down, he would mosey over, jump on the stool, and lay down. It became a great source of comfort for me to have him there as I was wading through jobs and hoping desperately that something would come up. He has the most absurd bugged eyes. One always appears to be looking to the left while the other looks at me. But they are also full of expression. He would look up at me as if to tell me that everything would be fine. He looked, at times, as if he knew I was upset and he just wanted to assure me that things would work out.
Eventually, we started taking breaks during the day, first to play ball in the living room and then to take walks, and then to take longer walks. It turns out that Marcel was getting me out of the house and back into life. We spent every hour together. I talked to him, played with him, danced with him, and snuggled him. Spending time with him was good, and I started to look forward to each day. And that opened emotional space for me to believe that everything would be o.k.
It seemed like Marcel’s optimism had rubbed off. Like him, I repeated what seemed like a hopeless job search routine daily, knowing that it probably wouldn’t work out.
Until it did. Out of the blue, an opportunity came up. It was a great position doing work that enriched me, and it was worth waiting for. I was thrilled to finally have found a job that I loved and that got me out of the house.
What I wasn’t thrilled with was leaving Marcel daily. I had gotten used to being with him, and we were pretty attached to one another.
But Marcel seemed fine. He and I spent mornings together, played and hung out all night, and then went to bed each night. And when we would get to my room, he would repeat the routine of trying to sleep in my spot. Maybe there is no reason for it other than biology, but I like to think that Marcel somehow believes that persistence and optimism will eventually pay off; after all, he got to see that truth firsthand.
As I am writing this, he is laying right next to me snoring up a storm. I work from home now, so I am back to being able to spend every day with him. We took a walk this morning, played a little with the ball, and now we’re settled in for the day, both of us doing what we do every day. We have a pretty settled routine.
One night, though, when we head to bed and he settles in on my spot, I think I am going to let him stay there. The bed is big, and I will just sleep on the other side. Because even a little pup needs to see that, from time to time, seeing the glass half full does eventually pay off. One day, he gets to be king of the bed, and both of us will be thrilled about it.