I was in a deep coma of a sleep. I’d worked a long day. The equinox tipped its hat and that black velvet of nighttime wrapped tight around me. In other words, perfect sleep.  Why would I wake up?

I’d felt the eyes on me. Waffles, my mostly Lhasa Apso, was sitting on the floor next to the bed. Staring at me.

I learned about this phenomenon when my children were young. When they were old enough to climb out of their beds, and young enough to want to climb into mine, they would stand in the doorway of my bedroom. That’s all it took. The stare. It woke me every time. Sometimes I’d manage a mumbled conversation about bad dreams and going back to sleep. Mostly, I’d lift the blanket and they’d crawl in for the rest of the night.

Waffles doesn’t want to crawl in bed at 5. He has the luxury of sleeping with my husband and me. Waffles wanted me to get up and take care of him. If I ignore him, he goes from silent stare to a quiet clearing of his throat, a soft purr of a growl. It has a pleading sound that, combined with those soulful eyes, is impossible to ignore. Usually, the eyes have it.

I’m not a late sleeper. Most days, I wake by six. That extra hour is the time where I dream the heaviest. The time when I sort out life’s thorny problems through dreams. It is the sleep I hate to give up.  

 In my sleep dazed state, I’m only conscious that I don’t want to cause harm to myself by doing going for the pup. I make it to the kitchen, with Chickie, our newly rescued Spoodle, trailing. She goes instantly awake and does a happy dance, Snoopy style. FOOD! FUN! EARLY! Woohoo.

By the time they are fed and take a short scamper around the yard, I have coffee made. My husband asks why I don’t just go back to bed. I’m awake… and as much as I hate losing the sleep, the annoyance quickly turns to gratitude.

The sun is up. I’ve gained an hour today. In a life where, it mostly feels like I’m running hours behind, the gift of time is rare. So this morning, I’ve time for a blog. Waffles and Chickie are sleeping at my feet. Yes, they do go back to sleep. Just like my daughters, rescued from their nightmares.

Of course, the next time I feel the eyes on me, I’ll try to talk him out of it. With most likely the same result.

Betsy