Not Dead, Just Lazy

This morning I thought Hank was dead.

Hank and I have been roommates for well over 4 years now. To me, Hank is that once in a lifetime dog that I know I will love and miss and cry about long after he's gone. You might even say I knew Ben was "the one" the day I realized he loved Hank more than me, and call me crazy, but that just did it for me. That's how much I love that sad, skinny, scared sack of bones I took home all those years ago against the advice of my family and friends and who no one understood or even liked for months until he came out of his shell and started showing off his hilarious side. When I'm 90 I'm sure I'm going to tell everyone who will listen to my crazy stories about that dog I had in my 20's when I was young and full of life, you know, before I got all saggy and bitter and old.

Hank learns and adapts to the general routine pretty well every time it changes, and believe you me, it has changed A LOT in the past 4 years from college to professional life to unemployment, and now back to college again. He likes to sleep in right up until the last possible second when he knows he has to get up and take care of business before I leave for the day. Today was the first time in a long time that I have gotten up before Ben, and Hank intended to stay in his bed until I was completely dressed and ready for school (makeup and all), then get up to go potty and maybe have a little breakfast, but only if I was offering it. Otherwise he was going to jump up into our bed for some snuggle time with Ben.

Kimber the hungries ridgeback just does not get it. Since the bathroom is not attached to the bedroom in this house, the second either of us leaves the room she's up and running around, sticking her cold, wet nose on the remaining person's back to remind them about that thing? You know breakfast? Is it time yet? Did Ben get up so he could give me breakfast? Where is he going? BREAKFAST? BREAKFAST? BREAKFAST? She would have you believe she would die of starvation if she ever skipped a meal. It's a ridgeback thing.


I decided to be proactive this morning and take both dogs out immediately, feed them, and then tuck them back in while I got a shower. Kimber popped right up, but Hank didn't move when I whispered his name. I tried again... nothing. This time I moved over to him and shook him a bit. Not one muscle moved. At this point I was starting to get nervous, so I started feeling his side for breath, but again there was no movement. I then checked his ears to see if they were still warm and hoped that the sensation would annoy him enough that he would pop up out of bed. No warmth, no response. Then the panic set in. I started slapping my hands across his side calling his name trying to get some sort of response, pushing and pulling and doing everything I could to wake him up and still I got nothing, and right there on the floor next to the bed, my heart stopped beating and I died. I fell over and I died and I somehow came back to life and this is at least the 3rd time this dog has gotten that exact reaction out of me. I'm not going to make it to 100 like the rest of my family.

Ben was starting to stir from all the noise I was making and that's when I told him, "Hank's not moving!!" Ben, not fully awake or aware of the situation was completely unconcerned.

Ben:"You mean like he won't get up?"
Me: "No... as in he's not alive."

That, dear friends, is how you get your husband to wake the hell up and pay attention. Ben jumped up and smacked Hank on the side and said, "Hank!" in his normal voice and only then did Hank's groggy little head start to slowly come out from under his blanket. Talk about a heart attack.

Perhaps Monkey is not the right name for him. I think I'll call him Sloth.