She Doth Protest too Much…

I am reluctantly awake at the crack of dawn thanks to her royal highness, the Mag-Dawg.  All the stars aligned to force this situation on me. It seems I can’t sleep in much longer no matter how hard I try these days. That dastardly World is conspiring against me getting a solid night’s sleep!  Actually, it’s my own fault as I could be walking Maggie after volunteering and cooking lunch instead of breakfast. I have just always been a very early riser and I love breakfast. I feel my very best around five or six in the morning.  This is specially so when I in one of cycles of mental illness as my father now calls them.

Canine Tourette’s Syndrome…

Maggie is also barking outside as if the house is being invaded this morning. Oh no! Genghis Kahn and his invading Mongol hordes have arrived! I got up and turned on all the outside lights.  All the neighbor’s dogs are in a stir as well I noticed as I stood at the backdoor trying to coax Maggie back inside with a large piece of ham (gets her every time).

I hate it when she does that as it worries me and I am sure it perturbs my neighbors. I will eventually get her inside for breakfast and lock the dog door for a moments peace.  Maggie will stop these shenanigans once dawn arrives as if on cue.   I think she is just insecure about the dark and apprehensive of all that goes bump in the middle of the night. We need to go on her walk as well which has been delayed and could be exacerbating the barking. The child doth protest too much, though!

Poltergeist Update…

The handyman with the perpetual plumber's crack came and looked at my refrigerator yesterday. Everything checked out as working properly. It was just a smidgeon low on refrigerant so he added some while he was there. 

“That Charlie is a good man,” the guy told me as he got to work. “Sent work my way when I was having a hard time getting my business started.”

“What kind of noises are you hearing?” he then asked inquisitively as he looked up from my kitchen floor.

“Bumps in the night. Cracks and pops. It seems to be in the ceiling and attic, but the only access to the attic is through my closet in the back of the house,” I told him.

“I wish I could help you with it, but I am no priest,” he told me, pulling up his pants for the tenth time.

That didn’t sound too promising.  On the other hand, Maggie completely ignores these sounds or entities as if they're not happening, so I shouldn’t give them much credence as well.