You all know about my love of all dogs. I especially love springer spaniels. I have had two springers, including Milly, the springer spaniel who currently lives at my house.
Springers are smart, loyal, affectionate and playful. They also have more energy than a kindergarten class hyped up on sugar. Many people call Milly a puppy because she still has the energy and silliness that puppies are known for.
I do love Milly, more probably than words can tell. But sometimes, she confuses me.
I’ve written about how much she hates geese. She’s not much fonder of squirrels, groundhogs, possums, raccoons or any of the other wildlife we encounter on our frequent walks. And frankly, she doesn’t really like any other dogs, except the two Pomeranians, Feliz and Bear, that live next door.
But she doesn’t hate all animals. I have a bird feeder on my deck. It’s visible from the big glass door in the living room. Milly will sit for hours and watch the birds at the feeder. She doesn’t bark or try to get outside. She just watches.
Last week, on three different occasions, we came up on a doe eating grass on the edge of our back yard. Milly stood perfectly still while the deer ate. She did nothing to scare it off, and it stood there eating and watching us for nearly five minutes. Finally, it walked into the woods.
Then on occasion, she does something that makes me crazy.
One night last week at about 1:45 a.m., she woke me up.
“Do you have to go outside?” I asked, groggily.
She just stood there looking at me, so I was confident she didn’t need to go outside. Usually when I say the “o” word, she jumps and leaps around like her tail is on fire. If I jumped around like she does when I need to go potty, I would no longer have to go potty, if you get my point.
Still, I go up and headed for the door. But she didn’t follow me.
“Come on. Let’s go outside,” I shouted at her.
She peered around the door at me with her usually silly smile. But she didn’t come.
“Fine. I’m going back to bed.”
About the time I got settled back in, she started pawing at me again.
“What now?”
This time, she nuzzled her head under my hand. Great, I thought, she woke me up at 1:45 in the blessed a.m. because she wanted me to pet her. So I did. For a quick minute.
“Now go to sleep.”
I was almost asleep again when the pawing started. I rolled over again.
“WHAT DO YOU WANT?”
This time, she dropped a tennis ball on my head. The little varmint woke me up because she wanted to play.
I told this story to some co-workers the next day.
“Aw, that’s so sweet,” one female colleague said.
“No, it’s not sweet. It might have been sweet at one in the afternoon, but at one o’clock at night it’s annoying.”
“But she loves you.”
“And I love her, too. I’d love her more if she’s let me get some sleep.”
Anyway, we didn’t play ball that night. And I explained to her that if she continued to wake me up in the middle of the night, I was moving her into the spare bedroom at night.
I mean, springers are great. But I got to draw the line somewhere. And sleep is where I choose.
