A Bark Before Bedtime

by Ken Blackmore
Copyright © 2004 Kerry Blue Terrier Foundation

It was a Tuesday night, and my wife and I sat up in bed reading. This in itself was a rare occurrence, as usually, between the day’s trials and tribulations, we are both too exhausted to read, let alone anything else.

“Humph,” Cinnamon muttered. “I didn’t know that.”

“What?” I asked, not lifting my eyes from the book I was reading, MARRIAGE: SO YOU RUINED YOUR LIFE.

“It says here,” she began, placing the Reader’s Digest onto her duvet covered lap, “that cats have over one hundred vocal sounds, while dogs only have about ten.”

“Fancy that,” I mumbled, turning a page, riveted to the print. Cinnamon playfully hit me across the back of the head.

“Did you even hear what I said?” she asked.

“’Course I – ”

Sitting at the end of our bed by my feet, our Kerry Blue dog, Jezebel, grumbled one of her ten vocal sounds at me. Her tight black and grey coat, recently trimmed, seemingly glistened in the soft bedroom light. Because of a blocked tear valve we had to cut the hair over her eyes, and now, with her pointed beard, she looks more like her master than she would like.

Ken Blackmore's Jezebel

“What’s wrong with Jez?” Cinnamon asked. On hearing her name the dog shuffled, a low, throated growl escaping her.

“Do you need to go for a pee?” I asked her, one of the few sentences that she ‘understands’. Another one is, ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’, for, being Irish, our dog drinks tea, with milk, no sugar. (This is why we have to ask her if she needs to pee every so often). She growled under her breath again, but didn’t leap off the bed in enthusiastic agreement.

“I brought her out before we went to bed,” Cinnamon told me.

“So what’s wrong with her?” I asked.

“Go to bed, Jez,” Cinnamon said. Our mistresses voice indeed. Jez glanced between my wife and I, grumbling and softly barking.

“I don’t understand it,” said Cinnamon. She went to climb out of bed, when I took hold of her arm.

“I know what’s wrong,” I said. “I never tucked her in.”

Now; this may sound outrageous and decadent, but if you are the proud owner of a Kerry Blue then you will understand. Jez sleeps on a sheepskin, on the floor at the foot of our bed. Before, she slept an old blanket, but got tired of it and more times than not we’d wake up in the morning, crippled from her lying on our legs. As soon we got the sheepskin it’s now quite difficult getting the dog up in the morning, and questions such as ‘Do you want to go to bed?’ are met with a flurry of furry legs rushing to the bedroom.

Every night, every-single-night, before I crawl into bed, I tuck my Kerry Blue into hers. I pet her and coo her and scratch her behind her ears as she circles then settles down onto the sheepskin. Once rested, I then throw her dog blanket over her, to which she lets out a huge, contented sigh.

“I don’t believe it!” Cinnamon exclaimed, as I hauled myself out of bed to do just that, Jez automatically jumping off our bed and cozying herself onto hers. “She was waiting for you to tuck her in?”

“What can I say – she loves her Daddy,” I replied, slipping the blanket over the curled-up dog.

“Well,” Cinnamon said, crossing her arms irritably, as I climbed into bed once more, “I wish you’d tuck me into bed like that …”

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