When I am trying to sleep, there is nothing I hate more than having someone touch me. I simply cannot bear the warmth of someone's arm across me. The weight of a leg draped across mine. The sound of someone's breath in my ear. In fact many an unsuspecting bed companion has felt the heat of my wrath when they have dared to lean as much as a little toe on me. It makes me feel, you see, like stabbing said person in the night and clearly that is the kind of impulse that very definitely must be contained. Especially when you find yourself sharing your cosy, beautiful, lavender scented bed with a ten year old boy and his puppy. Oh yes. stabbing either one of them for needing the warmth of she who is clearly the leader of the pack would simply never do.
Last night Alfie came to holiday at our house. Alfie, the puppy Mum bought for Finn. Alfie the puppy who is growing faster than Japanese knotweed and has already reached a size none of us were expecting. Finn was delirious with excitement and I was worrying about picking up poo. And whether Alfie would eat Alice the cat, or Alice the cat would hide, never to be found again, after encountering our shaggy little enthusiastic maniac of a puppy.
All went swimmingly well. Alice clung to me like a teeny chimpanzee and Alfie shot around the house carrying, variously, a doillie, a tin of Coty talc, and at one point, my black bra and looking for all the world, like he was having the absolute time of his life. And then it was bed time. Ordinarily Alfie sleeps in a puppy cage too big for my house and so it was decided that he would sleep upstairs, with Finn, at a safe distance away from little Alice's room, and with his own snuggly blanket for company.
Bad idea. You see Alfie worships me in a way I have never before been worshipped. As soon as he realised I was both behind two doors and across the hall, he started to whimper. Finn came and fetched the camisole I had been wearing that day to try to settle him down but when half an hour had passed, and the whimper looked set to turn into a full doggy howl, I knew I had no choice in the matter but to call both child and dog into my room.
Readers I am not the kind of person who believes it sensible to share her bedroom with a canine, but needs must and very soon I was huddled on one side of my bed, while Finley spread himself as wide as possible across me and the darn dog settled himself down to sleep across my legs, heavy breathing like an amorous octogenarian. I was struggling. I was holding in my urge to stab the pair of them with the Kindle I was trying to read in the dark, when all of a sudden it was seven o'clock in the morning and said dog was curled up between me and Finn, who was holding a snoring Alfie as if he was a rather large, curly haired teddy instead of the mad cockapoo that he really is.
How the heck did that happen? How in the name of Pedigree Chum did I have the best nights sleep of my life sharing my bed with a boy (all long limbs and curly hair) and a puppy?
I thought I was way beyond my comfort zone and it turns out I simply have no idea where my comfort zone begins and ends. Bless my silly heart.