The plan was to watch a movie and have the lights out by midnight, as we have an early morning tomorrow (church) and a long day (NaNoWriMo TGIO party at 5), and my ankle hurts enough that it’s manifesting itself in the form of exhaustion. I spent the vast majority of the day in bed, today, not reading, and not vegging with bad Christmas specials, but actually asleep.

The plan was murdered at 11:50 PM, when Cleo, aka the Barking Bitch of Beelzebub, decided that the new signal for “I have to go out” was not the usual one of going to the door, but instead, asking to be cuddled. I knew something was up when she leapt off the bed, as if terrified, and then slunk to the door, the way only dogs who are ashamed of their behavior, can.

I glanced at the sheet (Fuzzy’s side) where she’d been, and it was soaked. Then I raced (I use the term loosely) to the door, yelled for Fuzzy to come help with cleanup, and hobbled across the very slippery living room, and very cold tile kitchen and breakfast room to open the back door for the dog, who raced out, peed, raced back in, jumped back onto the bed, and left another puddle. This is completely unlike Cleo. While she does leak from excitement once in a while, wetting the bed hasn’t been her thing since she was a new puppy, and we let her sleep with us prematurely.

And so, we spent the last ninety minutes cleaning up, washing sheets, finding replacement sheets, and trying to convince our embarrassed girl-dog that we’re upset that she didn’t signal, not that she had an accident. Of course, Cleo, being a dog, doesn’t understand the distinction at all.

Zorro, meanwhile, is the Good dog tonight, and is curled up looking cute, though his ears register his confusion at all the hubub and why the sheets have been replaced off-schedule.

My ankle is throbbing, and I’m tired, but not sleepy, and now it’s almost two. Oh, well, I’ve managed on less sleep than this.

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This entry counts as the 12/4 entry, as it’s still fiscally Saturday, so I’m backdating it.