the first step is admitting your dog has a problem

It's three-thirty in the morning and I'm fast asleep, until I feel the dog jump off the bed and slink out of the bedroom. Oh well, I think. He probably got too hot under the covers and went to sleep on the couch for a while. I try to go back to sleep, but I'm interrupted by what sounds like someone drop-kicking a bee-hive, which turns out to be a very frustrated warbling, growling noise from my dog. Huh, I think. He must need to go outside.

So I open the door to let him out, and he stands there and looks at me, dumbfounded. Which does not altogether surprise me, since it's raining. Go on, you pansy, I say, a little rain won't hurt you. He obediently walks outside, then stands in the driveway pointedly not doing his business until I offer to let him back in. Guess that wasn't it either, I think, and check food and water bowls to make sure they're well-stocked. They are.

Perhaps if I just crash out on the couch with him, I think. So I curl up on the loveseat and offer him some space under the afghan. He considers this for a moment, then jumps up and settles himself in for no more than six seconds or so before hopping back down onto the floor. I hear his toenails clicking on the kitchen tile, then comes one exasperated WOOF! and suddenly it all becomes clear to me.

My dog has awakened me in the middle of the night to play with the stuffed hedgehog that lives on top of our refrigerator.

This is not the first hedgehog Grendl has had. This is Hedgehog Version 4.0 at least. Previous hedgehogs have been carelessly left within Grendl's reach and mercilessly devoured, which is why this one lives on top of the refrigerator. Actually, Hedgehog Version 3.0 lived up there too, but one day when I could no longer stand Grendl's withdrawal symptoms I delivered 3.0 into his loving jaws and bought myself a night's worth of peaceful study time while the dog silenced the squeaky plastic bubble buried inside his toy once and for all.

The funny thing is, a good deal of time elapsed between the demise of the last hedgehog and my purchase of this one, yet Grendl cruised the fridge at least once a day in the intervening months. He was like one of those faithful believers who worships the produce section where the Virgin Mary was supposed to have appeared in someone's potato. And, sure enough, after a dry spell, Hedgehog once again materialized on top of the refrigerator to reward Grendl's loyalty.

It's great knowing that there's one surefire way I can endlessly entertain my dog. The problem with Hedgehog is he's disgusting. They say dogs' mouths are cleaner than humans' and from this standpoint, handling Hedgehog's crusty fur, matted and brown with saliva, is enough to make me want to do a Listerine keg-stand. Even more troubling, though, is the way the scant few minutes Grendl spends each day with Hedgehog eclipses all other pleasures. His poor rope toy lies abandoned. He'll tug on it for a moment, but loses interest quickly, gazing wistfully at the refrigerator instead.



It's hard to know what to do as a pet owner. I long for the days before Hedgehog ever entered our lives, when the most interesting thing to materialize in the vicinity of the refrigerator was sausages. There's a simple enough way to finish off Hedgehog 4.0, but I know the dog will faithfully wait for Hedgehog to rise again. And you know, he's probably right, because when you believe in something that hard, your mom will probably cave in the next time she goes to buy you Milk Bones.