The clock says 3:26. which means in reality it is 2:26. That means some people are just coming in, that it’s bed time for them. The reality is that even for Amish dairy farmers it it too early to be up, and yet here I am.
It’s the dogs’s fault. also some cat that isn’t mine. The problem is multi-leveled. First, around midnight I woke up to the unpleasant aroma of dog poop. Rusty is the only one who isn’t crated at night, and he sleeps in a bed next to mine upstairs. “great.” I thought. “That little jerk didn’t even have the courtesy to go poop on the bathroom rug.” which is what he normally does when he can’t keep it in all night. Usually he can but occasionally he can’t. I got up, turned on the light and put on my glasses, and looked around but didn’t find any evidence. “Lovely.” I thought.” I refuse to look under the bed.” So I opened the door to ventilate the room a little and went back to sleep.
Around 2:45 I heard a cat fight outside. Both of my cats were on the bed, so it was ok. I got up to use the bathroom and it felt a little weird. “great.” I thought, “I am getting a bladder infection.” I scratched around in the medicine cabinet and found a bottle of Cipro, and took one. “at least now I won’t lay there wondering if I should go to the grocery store right now and get cranberry juice.” I thought.
Apparently the dogs heard the cat fight too, so one of them (always Lily. It is ALWAYS Lily) started yipping and screeching in her crate. The dog is deaf unless it’s a cat fight. So I got back up and let them out, and went back upstairs to the bed, mistaken in the notion that it would be that simple. It never is. It is now 3:00
There is a gate that keeps the dogs from coming upstairs. Being dachshunds, running up and down stairs is inadvisable.
The dogs sat at the bottom of the stairs and yodeled their disapproval about the gate being closed. Ok, fine. I’ll come downstairs and sleep in the recliner. By this time it is 3:15. Stretching out in the recliner felt good, as did the orange afghan. The window next to the chair is open, the cool breeze and crickets are comforting and the cat is across my legs. Peaceful, right?
So I am all comfortable, as best I can be, lights out, snuggled down, and there is the smell of dog poop again. The dogs were all just outside and are you telling me someone had the NERVE to shit in my LIVING ROOM? So I got up, investigated, no poop. Then it hit me (not the poop, the realization)
Olfactory hallucinations. It hasn’t happened in a long time (like, years), but times past when I have been under extreme duress, i have had olfactory hallucinations. That’s right. i smell things. One time it was methylmercaptan….that’s the stuff they put in natural gas and propane to make it stink. Himself (with the very acute nose of a professional chemist) didn’t smell it, but I did. he even called out the gas company with their professional electronic sniffer and they didn’t smell anything. This happened about 2 weeks after I had been diagnosed with the bipolar disorder. Other times, during “happy stress” like right after a vacation or having a baby, I would smell nice things, like baking bread or chocolate.
So now I am smelling dog poop.I have looked. There is no poop in the house. Good for the dogs because now I don’t hate them, even for getting me up at dark:30, but bad for me because I will be constantly checking my shoes and apologizing.
Dear God, why dog poop? It smells so bad I can taste it. Isn’t Himself getting into Heaven a good thing? Couldn’t you let me smell pot roast or oatmeal cookies? Amen.
I guess stress affects people in different ways. If it is going to affect me, it might as well be interesting.