Saturday. Blah.

It's one of those defining moments. I'm sitting at the computer. I want to write something brilliant. All I can think about are those puffed cracker snacks that are sitting in the closet downstairs. Why do I always get hungry at times like this? Paul is relaxing with his favorite robe and his favorite dog. He's cramming in Rosencrantz & Guildenstern as much as one can cram when one is basically sleeping. Hoagie is resting his 20 lb. cranium on Paul's stomach so he is captive. This dog can make himself comfortable faster than any living creature I have known. He has the ability to lay some body part on me and totally trap me for hours. At night I've been known to move less than 2 inches at a time in any given direction because he has monopolized the rest of the bed between Paul and I and we are forced to the very edges of our Kingsdown mattress. Good thing it's oversized or I'd be sleeping off the edge... or on the floor. Not that he doesn't make us enormously happy mind you but those nights when he is having a dream it's like being on a ride at Universal. I am so used to being kicked and farted on during the night that I barely register just how wild things get. I wake up just long enough to log in the thought "Hoagie is dreaming again" and then I drift off. I don't know how. He must be dreaming of chasing badgers or something. The feet are going in four different directions. The lips are curling in an Elvis Presley like grimace. Occasionally there is boofing. Boofing is the non bark that happens during dream. It's the suedo-bark. It's the dream bark if you will. It's just another noctural noise that saturates my own dreamscape and wakes me up for the fourth time that night. I wonder why I have bags under my eyes.