A Dog's Breakfast

I was rudely awakened at 3 a.m. by Havoc.

Now Havoc is often rude. He gulps and slobbers. I usually feel as if I am feeding a machine gun not a dog. The food sprays rat-a-tat-tat a distance of three feet as he eats. He slurps as he performs his personal toilet or grooms Kenya. He drools and leaves gobs of thick snot-like mucous on Kenya's coat when they play. He is a beautiful dog, but he has one of those unfortunate loose-jowled mouths that drool incessantly.

But this rude noise was different.

The second he leapt off the bed and began to retch loudly, I was fully awake. "Not on the carpet." He went into the hall and sought the wood floor. Then he moved to the den and found the only surface in the house that is really easy to clean: the hard plastic pad on which my desk and chair rest.

The retching continued spasmodically until he deposited on the plastic, a lump as large as two of my fists. It was impressive. It was the tuggy toy he'd been playing with yesterday. It was Tom Strike's construction glove.

Kenya went downstairs during this drama and slept in her crate.

I stroked Havoc's back as I would have a vomiting child's, cleaned up the mess, washed my hands, and we went back to bed.

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And then I fell into one of those wonderful deep sleeps for four hours. I even dreamed ... and remembered it.

..................................

The dream was about my ex husband who has been dead for several years now. It took place in the present but he was still the man in the past. He wanted to manipulate our son (now in his late thirties) into heterosexuality by renting a motel room for the summer on a dirt road, and hiring a fourteen year old girl to keep house for him. Our son's partner was not invited to be part of this bucolic idyll.

At their request, I went out to see the set-up. In the course of the visit, my ex pretended to search me for weapons (yes I know it doesn't make sense ... dreams don't) and he clawed me through my jeans from crotch to ankles. It was meant to hurt, and I was bruised, the way I am when Havoc uses his claws to make a point.

I remembered fear but no longer feared him.

When I woke up this morning I thought of the piece my friend, Linda, an artist, gave me a few years ago. It is a woman with her mouth opened wide roaring into the face of the bear that had terrorized her in recurring nightmares. She had finally become the stronger of the two.