The Little Dog has gotten paranoid in the night. I have insomnia. You would think that would be a perfect match – me, catering to the dog’s paranoia while I am wandering around the house at 2am, eating cottage cheese and Sun Chips.
I have had elderly relatives display this same kind of fleeting paranoia for no reason, repeatedly asking me the location of their purse (on her arm) or where their spouse is (dead). The Little Dog looks like she is fearful we are lost, and maybe we are here in Pacifica. Maybe she remembers Oakland. She looks worried as if the Big Guy has disappeared so I take her to his big snoring self, splayed out in the bed with the covers over his head. Then, she thinks she’s perhaps hungry. After a few paltry bites of kibble, she wants to go outside and bark at the apples on the tree. She doesn’t bark much any more but when she does she gives it everything she’s got. She sounds like an alarm in the middle of the night, barking so hard her front legs come off the ground. I chase after her to quiet her down, and she runs lickity split back in the house like it’s all a game. Maybe it is.