Boz and the Makeshift Whoopee Cushion
Boz, the face I can’t seem to say no to.
Anyone who’s ever spent a minute or two reading my blog, can see (at least I hope) how much I love my pups, Boz and Gracie. As personalities, I’d have to say Boz is more Gary Cooper or Cary Grant, a dashing man of action, while Gracie channels Greta Garbo and a little Aunt Clara from Bewitched. Glamorous yes, quirky yes, but she really prefers to be alone. To Boz the world is a stage and no twig, bee or deer is too small, agitated or bossy (respectively) to thwart his interest or investigation.
When I first adopted Boz he would follow me behind my mower, as if on an invisible leash. I’d stop to empty the grass bags; he’d stop, awaiting my resumption of this seemingly inane exercise. Recently, I was on my tractor down in the front field. It was five o’clock, dinner time, and Boz bounded off the front porch, pushed through the unlatched gate, bombed down the hill with serious intent, and planted himself right in front of my advancing tractor. Brakes on, throttle down, stunned at his bravado, or more likely love of kibble, I knew I would not win this Tiananmen Square standoff, so I acquiesced and headed back to the house to feed my ‘poor starving’ dogs.
Gracie is a bit camera shy, but oh so photogenic.
Last night Boz chose 3 a.m. to charm me once again. Returning from the bathroom (getting old ain’t for sissies), I stood in the dark at the foot of my bed. My CPAP machine didn’t sound right. Usually just a steady din, the compact air pump had a laboring sound . For the un-initiated, CPAP stands for continuous positive airway pressure therapy. It helps those suffering from obstructive sleep apnea (OSA) breathe more easily during sleep. Here’s the sexy part ( as sexy as sporting a hockey mask), the sleeper must wear headgear to equalize the pressure. And while I mock this marvel of modern science and medicine, I am beholden to it for a fine night’s sleep.
After stubbing my toe on the foot-board, wading through a pile of laundry to find the light switch, I could see Boz was wide awake sitting up, sandwiched between two pillows like a happy sultan. Donning my glasses, I followed the air hose from the machine to the bed to under Boz’s bum. My beloved bed-mate was sitting on the nasal mask, apparently enjoying the sensation of a cool breeze where a soul would be hard pressed to find one. I whined, “Oh Boz-man, Buddy that is not what this is for.”Without budging, he remained on his new-found whoopee cushion, and looked away as if not seeing me would make me disappear.” I later had to laugh, Boz was having a little Marilyn- Monroe-in-The-Seven-Year-Itch moment. (Uh, well maybe it’s not quite the same.)
Gracie, “Don’t look at me…I was minding my own business at the other end of the bed.
Needless to say my feigned admonishment and surly tone fell on deaf furry ears, so I returned to the bathroom with mask and hose in tow for a little disinfecting, make that a LOT of disinfecting. Back in bed, Boz barely missed a wink of sleep and Gracie snored through the whole ordeal. Ah, you take the good with the bad and the unexpected, and you love them nonetheless.