Mournful Howl

We’ve all read the expression “mournful howl” and sort of moved on. The phrase has been used so often that we pretty much just read it as “howl” these days. This morning at 5:15 my wife and I were awoken by the saddest, most HAUNTING howl I have ever heard. Mournful came back into the picture full swing.

One of our dogs is part wolf. She’s a petite little thing who thinks very highly of herself and is both gorgeous and sweet. For reasons we’re not entirely certain of, Anya suffers from occasional bouts of separation anxiety and occasionally has bad dreams. Last night she had a bad one and woke herself up howling.

Let me clarify that we treat our dogs well. If anyone is following me on Twitter you can see the posts of the spoilage that has gone into my own dog from before marriage, Oberon. Let me further clarify something about Anya. She does not make noise. I think it’s the wolf in her. This dog does not bark, growl, or whimper—not that she’s ever had cause for any of these things but that hasn’t stopped the VERY vocal Oberon from making his opinions known or defending us from the dangerous cows and buzzards that live on the ranch with us.

This morning when she woke us up was the loudest I have ever heard her. I found her coming to under our kitchen table and brought her back to bed with us. Anya, unlike our two boy dogs, loves attention, but in small doses, and has a love-hate relationship with our bed. She’s starting to get arthritis and the bed is too tall for her to easily get up, and down on her own and if she cannot have her independence then snuggles usually aren’t worth it for her. With the exception of this morning.

 

She BURROWED in between me and my bride and proceeded to tell us all about her night, how much she loved us, and most importantly, how much she loved the attention she was getting in hushed moans and purrs. I didn’t know dogs could purr. If her head hadn’t been so close to mine (she insisted on a couple of good morning kisses to my chin) I probably wouldn’t have heard her.

After a good twenty minutes of snuggling she was ready to be done and so I lifted her from the bed and placed her in my armchair. I emphasize “my” armchair because if I don’t establish my dominance over it she would never leave it and I would have to replace my favorite reading spot (unacceptable). She KNOWS that it’s my chair and that when I want it I will use it regardless of how much she preens and tries to show what a pretty girl she is. Hey, I said she was quiet, I didn’t say she wasn’t vain.

 

Anyway, our snuggle time made Oberon jealous and I turned around to find that my spot on the bed had been taken over by the big lump head. I figured I had three options. One, kick him out of bed. Two, get up. Three, offer him his own snuggle time. Let me just say that option one was never really an option and that two would have earned me wounded looks from not only every dog in the house but my wife as well. Guess there are worse ways to start the morning.