Okay, all you pet lovers. How exactly should I deal with a snoring dog? Chi’s bed is too far away to prod her with an elbow, she sleeps through any scolding, and if I do happen to wake her up to silence the din, she just wants outside, no matter how dark and frigid. She is by far the loudest snorer in the room – no debates here about who else may or may not be in contention for that honor, please.
Barkley doesn’t snore; he ‘talks’ in his sleep. He whimpers, pants, woofs and grunts, all while his feet twitch and his nose sniffs out whatever he’s chasing across his field of dreams. Fortunately, his nocturnal excursions are short-lived.
But Chi can snore for hours, or at least it seems that way after being awakened for the umpteenth time. We can’t relegate them to another room. They whine and scratch at any door that separates us, day or night. I suppose earplugs are an option, but if I’ve adapted to hubby’s snores (sorry, said I wasn’t going to mention that, didn’t I?), I should be able to deal with the dogs.
I know, I know. If we had trained them properly when they were pups, it wouldn’t be a problem to bed them down in another room. But that’s history, and a philosophy of pet ownership that doesn’t fit our lifestyle. Chi and Barkley are part of the family; this is as much their home as it is ours. Sure, that causes problems at times, like when Chi sprawls across two-thirds of the couch, or when Barkley decides that bowl of cookies on the counter must be his dessert. Overall though, we co-exist wonderfully. They know when they can share our bed (afternoon naps only) and when they can’t. They know we will feed them and exercise them and always come home again when we leave them alone. And we can count on an ecstatic greeting after we’ve been gone, even for a few minutes. A warm puppy in my lap, their unconditional love, can overcome just about anything.
Except for the snoring.