Sunday, November 23, 2014

Good In Bed

What do you think about when you wake up at two in the morning?  You know what its like.  For some reason, nothing you can put your finger on, your eyes suddenly spring open and you're wide awake.  It's pitch black, the crickets are chirping and you know it's going to be at least an hour before you can drop off to sleep again.  What goes through your mind?  I know what goes through Baci's dirty little testosterone fueled mind because he has the callouses on his paws to prove it.  My female staff often thinks of her late Mum and remembers things that have happened over the last few days that she'd like to tell her about, but will now never be able to.  That's a little sad, but my spirit reminds her that her Mum is still there with her and already knows all the things she wants to say.  That makes her feel better and she soon goes back to sleep.

My male staff's Mum has been gone a little longer, so he often thinks of me when he wakes up.  He clenches his fists in frustration when he recalls the puncture the stupid Mercedes suffered when they were on their way to visit me in hospital the day before I crossed the Rainbow Bridge and how it prevented them from seeing me one last time.  He often has to blink away tears at that memory, but then my spirit nips the inside of his thigh and makes him think about something happier like the time he won six dollars in the lottery, or the day that Margaret Thatcher resigned as Prime Minister.  The latter has duel benefits.  Thatcher's resignation cheers him up and thoughts of her replacement - John Major send him back to sleep.

On the rare occasions when thoughts of John Major don't send him off he tries counting backwards from a thousand.  I don't know why he persists with this because it never works.  He'll get to seven hundred and forty three, fall asleep, and then moments later wakes up thinking "Damn it! I lost count, where was I?"  Then he has to start all over again.  By all accounts my staff's bedroom is a pretty lively place, though not necessarily for the reasons you might be thinking of - honestly! You're worse than Baci.  My female staff has always said that my male staff is very good in bed; that is, he goes straight to sleep as soon as he lays down.

There is quite a lot of action there however.  My female staff has very vivid dreams and often wakes my male staff with a variety of loud yelps and squeals.  Once she was dreaming that her frantic sister was twisting her arm, it was so real that she lashed out to free it and elbowed my male staff's nose.  In addition to this he's been kneed in the testostricles, kicked in the shins and head-butted.  Fortunately for my female staff my male staff's dreams tend not to provoke such a violent reaction, though she did once wake to find him sitting up in bed staring at her.  That would have really given me the creeps, as indeed it did her.  For a week after that she slept with a baseball bat for self protection until my male staff pointed out that given the nature of her dreams he was the one who was more likely to need the baseball bat.

It's not so much his dreams that make my male staff an interesting sleeping partner, but his leg cramps.  These tend to strike at two or three in the morning and most of South East Queensland knows when it happens.  There's a loud agonised scream of "Ahhhharrraaaarrrrrrgh!" Then "Ah ah ah ah aaaarrrrrggghhh!" followed by a loud THUMP. This second exclamation is because he can't untangle his leg from the bedding and the THUMP is him falling head first out of bed with one foot still wrapped up in a sheet.  Usually by this time my female staff has woken and turned over to find herself staring at my male staff's naked backside sticking up in air.  Fortunately for her it's usually too dark to see much detail so she's not scarred for life by the experience, merely put off her breakfast.  Then, after a few moments of scrabbling about on the floor wrestling with the sheet my male staff will free himself and commence the next stage of the operation, namely hobbling around the bedroom doing his famous irate seagull impersonation - "Faaaaaaaaaark! Faaaaaaaaaark! Oh faaaaaaaaaaaaaark! Ow ow ow ow ow ow faaaaaaaaaaaaark!"  He say's it's like someone's got his leg in a vice and is bending it in an attempt to snap it in half.  I'm not sure how he knows what that feels like, maybe my female staff has tried doing that to him in one of her dreams.

Next comes the groaning and stretching stage during which he braces himself against a wall and tries to relieve the cramp by stretching the offending muscle.  Usually this is accompanied by quieter moans and groans with only the occasional "Faaaaaaaaaaark!"  At this stage one is tempted to think that the evening's entertainment is all but over, and indeed often it is.  However, on more than one occasion instead of leaning on the wall, in the dark and in pain he's leaned against the sliding fly screen door, which unsurprisingly tends to give way, sending him sprawling naked outside onto the deck much to the alarm of the possums who are often there raiding the bird feeders in the small wee hours. This is particularly entertaining when it's raining and the deck is slippery because he then scrabbles about on all fours like a puppy on a linoleum covered floor, his hairy bum shining wetly and oh so romantically in the dim, sub-tropical, pre-dawn light.  Eventually he'll scramble to his feet, which really frightens the possums and while they scamper off to find a safe tree in which to hide from the pallid, dripping monster before them, his cramp will return and we have to endure the hobbling "Faaaaaaark!  Faaaaaaaark! Oh faaaaaaark! Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow faaaaaaark!  stage all over again.

After a while the cramp will cease and he'll try to get back into the bedroom, stepping over the destroyed fly screen door and muttering something about getting the "faaaaaaarking thing" fixed in the morning.  However, there's no way my female staff will have him coming back in the bedroom dripping wet from the rain and ruining the bedroom carpet.  "Go round to the front door." She says.  "I'll let you in there and you can go to the bathroom and dry off."  Wisely, he obeys and trudges off in the nude around the house in the rain to the front door thanking his lucky stars that they have no nearby neighbours.  Of course, by the time he gets to the front door my female staff has fallen asleep again and ringing the doorbell has no effect whatsoever, mainly because it hasn't worked for two years and when nagged my male staff say's he'll get around to fixing it soon.  So he bangs like crazy on the door for half an hour before my female staff wakes up and opens it for him.  "Why didn't you just ring the bell?" She asks looking him up and down. "Cold out is it?" She says.  Half an hour later my male staff is dry and back in bed.  The room is quiet with just the sound of soft snoring. Then - Ahhhharrraaaarrrrrrgh!" Then "Ah ah ah ah aaaarrrrrggghhh!" followed by a loud THUMP.

This kind of thing happens all the time and not only when they are at home.  Often they've been staying at a hotel and had similar problems and had to endure the nudges and winks from the young couple staying in the room next door or if its an older couple, disapproving glares and tuts.  They've given up apologising and trying to explain.  "Sorry about all the noise last night, but its not what you think.........."

I don't think I like wot Uncal Billy is incinerating.  I don't have kalluses on my poors at all.  Well I do ackchooly but they are from like all the hard werk I do.  Ennyway Uncal Billy can't tork.  His staff are always telling me abowt wot he'd try to do to paw Uncal Badger.  How he'd weight for Uncal Badger to be pre-okkyew  pre-occupide  pre-ock  distrackted by a bit of basil or sumfink and then kreep up behind him and like do wot I did to that pumpkin in the soopamarket.

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