Nightlife on the Ridge

Dusk comes early here on the mountaintop--or what passes for a mountaintop in New Jersey. Our home sits on top of the first ridge of the Watchung mountains; it is not even worthy of a name; it is simply the first ridge. We are surrounded by trees, and as the sun dips below the the uppermost branches, our light dims--nearly an hour before it does elsewhere in town.

As it gets dark, our daytime visitors--birds, bees and butterflies--are replaced with creatures of the night. They are no less beautiful, and no less fascinating. And every night, I get to see who has stopped by for a snack. 

Heading out for the night 
Before I head to bed, I offer One Last Potty to the pups; it's our last outside visit of the day. Jasper and Tucker usually come running to the back door, but Lilah waits to see if I Really Mean It. She's right, because sometimes I get distracted before we head outside; a load of laundry needs to folded or some dishes left in the sink cry out to be washed. Once Herself joins us, each dog gets to Ring the Bell (they're learning to ring a bell as a sign that someone needs To Go). Then I attach a small color-coded light to his or her collar; it's the only way I can see where they are at night, particularly Stealth Lilah, whose black fur causes her to disappear when she's more than a yard away from me.  I then leash everyone, all dogs Sit, then Look at Me and await the magic word, "Release," which allows them to go through the door.

And we're Outside.

Everyone must walk nicely on their leashes as we cross the deck to the patio, where they must sit calmly again, allow me to take their leashes off, Look at Me once more, and then "Release" sets them free to run through the night and do their business.
I always carry a flashlight with me during Final Potty Time, so I can bag up and remove their "business," but it also gives me an opportunity to see who has come to visit after dark.

Moths: spirits in the night 
The moths come out first; as soon as the sun goes behind the trees, the butterflies disappear and are replaced by their nocturnal cousins. They feed on the same flowers, and flit around my butterfly bushes, supping nectar and unaware that they are not “moth” bushes.

Until I actually started searching them out, I had this generic visual picture of a moth as a dun-colored nonbutterfly that maniacally attacks light sources.  Let me be clear; I was Very Wrong. These creatures are really quite gorgeous. That said, identifying moths is much, much harder than identifying butterflies. For one thing, there are just so darn many of them: more than 10,500 species in North America alone by one estimate, compared to 750 butterfly species. 

Here are just a few of my nighttime visitors:

I believe this is a Spotted Straw Moth, feeding on my buddleia, or butterfly bush.

I haven't a clue who this gorgeous creature is. The wings were tiger striped, orange and black. I only saw him once.

This moth was about 2 inches wingtip to wingtip. But, again, I couldn't identify him. Amazingly, there are a zillion butterfly identification books, but little or none for moths. And the online resources are not geared toward rank amateurs like me.

In addition to the the butterfly bushes, I also find moths on my front porch, where they congregate if we leave the lights on. This happens only when we're expecting visitors, as I'm a firm believer in dark skies.

This moth got as close as he could to my porch light. But (pardon the pun), I could not shed a light on exactly what kind of moth he is. (On second thought, no pardon. I LIKE puns.)

Hanging out above my front door was this moth; I love his mottled wings. You can imagine if he was on the trunk of a tree, he disappear. Such perfect camouflage.

Lions and tigers and bears...or maybe bats and owls and deer 
Sometimes, when I'm out in the yard, I see bats swooping and diving through the air. I LOVE bats. They eat mosquitoes, as well as other tiny insects. Did I say I love bats? And every once in a while, I'll hear--but rarely see--an owl. Usually, it's a great horned owl; I can recognize the call. And what's so neat about the great horned is that if you do a half-decent imitation of their call, they'll answer you. Many an evening will find me out in the backyard hooting at owls. Hey, the neighbors are far enough away; they probably think it's just a owl with a funny voice. I've also heard screech owls; these birds make those sounds you always hear in scary movies when a half-dressed teenaged girl is lost in the woods. It's very eerie, but way cool.

After about 10 or 15 minutes outside, the dogs have sniffed the important sniffs and barked at any deer in the vicinity. Who ignore them, having learned that not only does a deer fence keep deer out of my yard, but also keep dogs in my yard. Most nights, if there are deer, they might stand up if they were laying down, but usually they just stare at the dogs, with only a slight ear flick indicating that they even hear the ruckus of the hounds. And they don't move. Which of course, drives the dogs nuts. I'm sure the deer are amused.

Inside, outside, leave me alone  
Let it be noted, though, that the deer fence does NOT keep out skunks. No. It. Does. Not. We learned that the hard way last year, BT (Before Tucker) when Jasper and Lilah cornered a skunk behind the storage can we use for bird seed.That's a topic for another post, when I can discuss, among other things, What I Learned about Removing Skunk Smell (and it doesn't involve tomato juice.)

Another creature not stopped by the deer fence is the raccoon. While I've not met one personally--nor have the dogs--I often see the telltale footprints, as well as the creative destruction, that are their calling cards. I have to put a heavy rock on the bird seed can, or they'll open it up and snarf down the sunflower seeds. And every night I have to remove one particular bird feeder that the raccoons have learned to knock off its branch so that it crashes to the ground and breaks open: an easy feast.

So every night, I carry that feeder into the garage, where I put it in a large plastic tub, so the mice don't get it. That worked swell until one night a scrabbling noise stopped me just as I was about to drop the heavy feeder into the tub. Flashlight in hand, I looked into the tub to discover that a friendly neighborhood mouse had stopped by.

Well hello there Mr. Mouse. You're cute, but you're cuter when you're in the woods instead of my garage. And with Dawn and Athena around, your life expectancy is much greater outside my house versus inside.

He must have jumped in and couldn't jump out. I brought the tub to the side of my driveway, and let Mr. Mouse scurry away beneath the forsythia. It should be noted that the next night, Mrs. Mouse tried the same trick, followed one day later by Uncle Mouse. Hopefully, that was the last of them.

Boris and Natasha stop by the buffet  
As part of my routine, I then head back into the house through the garage, where I grab a spatula full of peanut butter, which I then bring back outside so that I can feed our flying squirrels. (For more about Boris and Natasha and family, read my posts Gliding in the Night and Photoshoot: Boris and Natasha.)

For those of you unfamiliar with these creatures, it turns out that New Jersey is home to Southern Flying Squirrels, who feed on mushrooms, fruits, berries, insects, and, apparently, peanut butter. A family of at least five squirrels live nearby and they know when I bring the peanut butter out, and usually make an appearance within five minutes after I've slathered Skippy into what has become the Squirrel Feeder.

Flying squirrels don't really fly; they glide using flaps of skin between their front and rear legs. Imagine a furry washcloth with paws at each corner and a head and tail centered on either end. Here you can see the skin flap as one of them scurries down our maple tree.

Checking out the peanut butter.

Flying squirrel buffet: three squirrels settle down for their evening meal.

Dawn and Athena hope for a night's entertainment  
By now it's time to bring the dogs inside, as they Really Want To Get the Squirrels, and I really Don't want them to get the squirrels. In the mean time, Dawn and Athena have set up a moth patrol in the laundry room, having learned that sometimes, if they are Very Lucky, a Gift will fly into the house as three dogs tromp in. And oh! What happy times when the cats get to chase a moth.

Moths do get in every so often, and when it happens, the cats are mesmerized.

And so is Tucker. He wants to Get the Moth, too. If you look carefully, at the top right of the picture is a tiny dark speck. No, your computer screen isn't dirty; that's The Moth.

This guy wound up in our laundry room recently. He had a 3-inch wingspan. I'm pretty sure he was a Common Gray moth, but I thought he was anything but common. Even though the cats Wanted to Get the Moth really bad, we rescued him and set him free back outside.

Usually, we try to Live and Let Live, and help the moth back outside to enjoy the rest of its short life. The cats aren't disappointed for long, as part of the nighttime routine is a small bowl of crunchy kitteh noms, which more than make up for the loss of the moth.

And while we non-nocturnal creatures head to bed, the nightlife of the residents on the first ridge of the Watchung Mountains has only just begun.

It's Not A Pack; it's a Family

The human-dog bond is universal. This is my dad, about 80 years ago, with his best friend Ruby, an Airedale.

Tucker sleeps all night in a crate at the foot of our bed. When I open the crate door in the morning, it would seem obvious that he would come charging out, ready to face the day. Yet he lingers, stretches, and falls back to sleep, quite content to stay in the crate, even though Jasper and Lilah are standing in front, wagging their doggy butts off, so they can give him a morning greeting. And often, during the day, Tucker will climb into his crate in the dining room, curl up and go to sleep. Yet when he first came to live with us, it was a completely different story; when I invited him to sleep in the crate, closed it and left the house, he went nuts and dug like crazy to get out.

Every day when I walk the dogs, I work with both Jasper and Tucker to be calm when they see another dog. We've made progress, but apparently Jasper remembers every house where he's encountered another pup, and begins to whine as we walk by--even if there's no dog there at the moment. On a walk the other day, Jasper saw Two Rabbits in a yard. He was not allowed to chase those bunnies, but he Really Really Wanted to. I gave him the Leave It command, along with lots of treats, but he still wanted to go after those long-eared varmints. Of course I didn't let him. On our next walk two days later, he whined as we walked past The Bunny Yard. There are no dogs in that yard. And we only saw rabbits that one time.

On a recent weekend, we went to dinner in the city for a birthday celebration. My son Aaron brought home a couple of helium balloons. Lilah took one look at these strange items that floated and backed away, looking very concerned. I brought a balloon down to dog nose level, and encouraged her to Touch It With Your Nose, which she did, accompanied by a long slow wary wag. She got treats for Being Brave. But later, as she walked down the hallway past the balloons, she gave them a wide berth. 

What were they thinking? What is going on in those doggy brains? I can't tell you how many times I've wondered that. In search of a few answers, I found Dog Sense, a book by John Bradshaw, that gave me an entirely new perspective on the wonderful creatures with whom I share my home and life. Bradshaw summarizes tons of in-depth research about canis familiaris in a way that even the non-scientist can appreciate.  He explores the evolution of our beloved pets, and writes about dozens of studies that give us non-canines a few glimpses into the minds of these fascinating animals.

Here is some of what I learned:

I’m the Mommy

It turns out that the thinking about domestic dogs in terms of a pack structure was based on faulty research into the way American wolves behave in captivity or stressed circumstances. Our current dogs probably didn’t evolve from these wolves, but instead from early ancestors of the Timber Wolf in Europe. In studying these animals, who are more closely aligned to the domestic dog, researchers have found that the groups they form aren't really all about the alpha male and alpha female. Most groups are formed around a central pair: the parents of the rest of the animals in the group. Thus, those of us who refer to ourselves as our pets’ Mom or Dad are probably a little more on target than calling ourselves pack leaders.  I’ve always thought I was Lilah, Jasper and Tucker’s mommy (and Kelsey, Pasha and Rosie’s mom, too); now I’ve given myself permission to say so in public. 

Rosie and Mommy

It’s all about time

Dogs have a very different sense of time. Very. Different. Think about it; if you have dogs, you know this already. When I leave the house, and then realize I forgot something (please don’t ask my family how often that happens), I'll come back inside seconds after I left and the dogs will greet me like I’ve been gone for days. Perhaps weeks. That’s one of the reasons so many dogs have separation anxiety; they don’t know that you’ll ever, ever come back.  

You're leaving us?

This was Tucker's issue; at first, when we left him home in his crate, he was so anxious that he’d dig up his blankets and make a terrible stinky mess (I’ll spare you the details.) We’ve been practicing leaving and coming right back and giving him treats—and he’s gotten much, much better: no more messes. He can stay in his crate comfortably for a good 3 hours while we're gone. 

Tucker, quite comfortable, in his crate.

Jasper, who isn't crated while I'm gone (because he doesn't chew everything in sight like his brother), still misses his Mommy (that’s me), and pines while I'm away, but doesn't act out. He has a special Waiting for Mommy spot where he lays, sighing every now and again. According to Bradshaw, studies show that even if dogs are left with other dogs for company, they still experience separation anxiety when their humans have left then alone. The strength of the human-dog bond can be more intense than that between dogs.

Jasper in his Waiting for Mommy Spot by the back door.

Tune In and Turn On

Bradshaw believes that dogs and people have co-evolved, and one of the results is that dogs are uniquely tuned in to humans. They are the only species whose members routinely look into our eyes. They understand when we point to something to look away toward it, or to look at what we are looking at. They learn our vocabulary. If you have dogs, you will sometimes think they can read your mind. 

Lilah looks like she's about to say something profound. I'm sure she'd have so much to say, if I could only understand her.

Most often, it is because dogs watch everything, and are alert to all kinds of nonverbal cues that tell them what is going on—not just your activities (I’m picking up a leash so it must be time to Go For a Walk), but also the smells and subtle changes and movements that speak loudly to dogs. If I do anything out of the ordinary, the dogs will notice--and react. Just the other day, I started a new exercise routine that required me to lie on my back on the floor and lift some weights. All three dogs came running to investigate this unusual behavior. I thought the dogs were going to lick me down to the bone. “Mommy isn’t acting right! She’s on the floor! She’s doing something funny with her arms.” Tucker laid down right on top of me. “There will be no more of that!” So much for my goal of Michelle Obama arms.

Tucker keeps an eye out for unusual activities.

We Don’t Know Nothin’

We’ve only begun to understand these awesome creatures. We really don’t know how they think or exactly how they feel. But after reading Bradshaw’s book, I feel honored—and I use that word on purpose—that these animals have chosen to share their lives with us. All of my dogs—and those that came before them—have given me a gift by allowing me to get to know them and love them. I look at them differently now, wishing I could tell them in their language how I feel. I guess some belly rubs, a good game of Ball, a Nice Long Walk and a Cookie or two will be the best I can do for now.

Jasper, Tucker and Lilah on duty; Mommy has left the building.

If you’d like to know more…

The book is called Dog Sense. The author, John Bradshaw, appeared on The Colbert Report and was interviewed by NPR’s Terry Gross on her show Fresh Air. He was also mentioned in a great story by Adam Gopnik in The New Yorker magazine, where Gopnik writes about a Havanese that joined a non-dog-loving family and made true believers out of them.

Great Spangled Fritillary!

One of the great pleasures of having a garden is the many visitors it attracts--and I'm talking about the non-mammalian kind.

Along with flowers come pollinators, including butterflies, moths and bees. When I take my camera into the garden, I find I am more likely to slow down and look closely at the petals, stems and leaves to see who has come to visit.

With the help of a guidebook and Google, I can usually guess at the insect species I've found. The rest of the time, I am quite clueless. If any of my readers has a few more clues than I do, I'd love help in identifying my visitors.

Take a look at my guest book so far this summer; this week's post will just focus on the butterflies who stop by. :

A Tiger Swallowtail seems to be loving the camera almost as much as the butterfly bush.

Another view of a Tiger Swallowtail. Even its body is tiger striped.

These are Black Swallowtail caterpillars. Every year they find my dill and eat it leafless. But there is plenty of dill for all to share.  I don't have a picture of this guy as a butterfly yet, but he looks a lot like the Spicebush Swallowtail shown below.

Some butterflies look very different depending on whether you're look at them from the bottom (ventral) or the top (dorsal). The Spicebush Swallowtail shown here is demonstrating the ventral view.

Here is the dorsal view of a Spicebush Swallowtail.

A Cabbage White butterfly demonstrates another way to look at the ventral view, as it feeds on purple loosestrife.

A dorsal view of the Cabbage White. For some reason, I always seem to see these butterflies in pairs, but they move so fast, I am never able to catch two in the viewfinder at the same time.

Dozens of small brown butterflies also gather and feed in my garden. Tiny, they are often eclipsed by their showier relatives, and I have to admit I have trouble identifying them. This is a skipper; it's maybe 1/4 inch from stem to stern, as seen here. This type of skipper has a kind of double folded wing, but it turns out, so do a dozen or so others. The group is known as folded wing skippers, but I can only guess which particular one this is.

Here you can see the folded wings on this skipper. Don't know what he is either.

Two folded wing skippers alternate between feeding and resting.

Horace's Duskywing is quite a bit bigger than most of the skippers, even if it is mostly brown in color like they are. With a wingspan of about an inch and a half, he's much easier to identify.

The Silver Spotted Skipper is a very common visitor. At any given moment, a half dozen of these creatures are flitting in and out and among my butterfly bushes.

For many people, the Monarch is the archetypical "butterfly." This monarch was posing on Purpletop Vervain, otherwise known as Verbena bonariensis.

Monarchs like the butterfly bush, too. I think everybody does.

 I would love this butterfly just for its name: Great Spangled Fritillary! Sounds like an exclamation: "Great Spangled Fritillary, Martha, is that a moose in the back yard?"

My garden is so much more than just flowers; it is a place of bright colors and constant movement.  A living work of art, it is made all the more precious by the knowledge that its beauty and wonder are short lived.

Found and Lost

All of my dogs are good Finders.

For example, every one of them can find a microscopic speck of food on the floor. Jasper, in particular, excels at this. He could be running at full speed through the kitchen and pull up short as his big nose catches the scent of Something Good. In my mind, I can hear the cartoon sound SCREEEEEEEE as he skitters to a halt and licks a tiny nothing off the floor.

Sometimes I just can’t understand the significance or the attractiveness of what my dogs Find. A few months ago, Jasper was running around the back yard with that particular look on his face that indicates he has something in his mouth but he doesn’t want anyone to Know About It. My daughter Corinne was nearby and read him correctly; she called out “Drop it!” Which he did, reluctantly. Then Corinne asks me if I recently lost an earring. Amazingly, I had, about a month previously. Somehow, Jasper had Found it in the yard.

Lilah specializes in Finding those tiny plastic bits used to attach price tags to clothes. These are the ones that I can never quite pull off myself, and I should probably go get a pair of scissors, but they’re All The Way Across the Room and I figure if I pull it just right, I won’t need to get the scissors. And then Bing! I pull it off and the little plastic tab goes flying. Ten minutes later, Lilah is murmuring something around in her mouth. “Drop it!” And out comes the tiny plastic piece. Lilah gets a treat for Dropping It. But seriously, why would she pick it up in the first place?

Because she Found It.

Both Jasper and Lilah also excel in Finding worms. The deader the better. Because dead worms have a lovely scent. Whoever finds it first (usually Lilah) will stop, drop and roll, spreading smelly wormy bits throughout her fur. A quick run by and the other dog will notice the Eau du Earthworm aroma, and sure enough, he’ll be rolling in what’s left of it, too. Tucker usually figures it out last, but there always seems to be enough stinky pieces remaining so that everyone can smell equally pungent.

Tucker isn’t too particular about what he Finds. Since he’s still a puppy, nearly everything is a new discovery. He Finds an item and then carries it to his bed to chew on. He has yet to learn the Toy/Not Toy distinction. So far, among the things that Tucker has Found to Munch On include: a box of Mystery Science Theatre 3000 DVDs, a pair of designer pumps that I was going to wear to a client meeting, a New Yorker magazine, my Canon digital SLR, the scrub brush I use to clean out the bird baths (yuck!) and a wood doorstop in the shape of a cat (probably had it coming, as it was a Cat!)

Tucker also Finds flower bulbs. And by Finds, I mean he digs them up and runs around the yard playing one of his favorite games: I Have it and You Don’t. And then he chews it to bits. This is Not a Good Thing, as tulip bulbs are on the list of items that can make dogs sick. So the idea is to remove the bulb from Tucker before he eats it, thus preventing hourly Potty trips outside to deal with the digestive consequences.

Recently, my pups have been on a run of Finding living things. This past weekend, Lilah was on the deck staring curiously at a spot by one of the chairs. Obviously something caught her interest, and upon investigation, I learned she had discovered a toad. I can’t imagine what attracted the toad to my deck, as I have several toad houses (broken halves of flower pots) throughout my garden, providing refuge from careening canines. But Lilah was just sniffing at Mr. Toad, and when Jasper and Tucker showed up, they also snorted the creature’s scent a few times; all three dogs didn’t seem to want to chew or pounce. This was good news for the our new amphibious friend.  So I picked him up, and put him in one of the toad houses, where he hid for the rest of the day.

Mr. Toad, right before he was offered the safety of a toad house.

Just a few hours later, I found Jasper looking very puzzled as he pondered a Find. Spread out across one of the chairs on our patio was an enormous Polyphemus moth. With a wingspan of 4 to 5 inches, this creature was quite spectacular. He didn’t seem interested in moving, even with a Jasper Moose Nose quite close. After taking a couple pictures, I gently picked up the moth and placed him within the leaves of my spider plant, where he would be less conspicuous, and thus less likely to be on the dinner menu for the birds who hang around by my patio.

The Polyphemus moth. Love those eyespots.

A view from the front. His body is hanging down through the chair. You can tell it's a male by the furry antennae, which he uses to detect the attractive pheromones of the females.

When I take the dogs out for their Potty breaks, I keep them leashed until we get to the patio, and each one Sits. There are several reasons for this. First, I like the leash practice, because they are not allowed to pull and we get to work on that rule. And second, all the walking and stopping and talking and sitting gives the birds and squirrels and chipmunks a chance to make their exits.

Yesterday’s Potty break was quite exciting, though, as all the dogs Found a blue jay, even before I could get them to Sit. The bird was hopping around the patio, trapped against the sitting wall. Three extremely agitated dogs were straining at their leashes, and a terrified bird was trying unsuccessfully to escape--and I was hoping my grip would hold while I dragged Jasper, Lilah and Tucker back into the house. I ran back outside to assess the bird, because it was either hurt or stupid or both, and leaving it there would have an unacceptable outcome.  

Minutes later I had cornered and caught the bird, deposited it in a shoebox with a few cloths, and once again brought the dogs outside. Freed, they ran around like crazed beetles, bumping into each other as they tried to re-Find the blue jay. Sorry, guys, but he was soon on his way to The Raptor Trust, one of my favorite nonprofits that takes in not only birds of prey (raptors) but all hurt birds and other wildlife that need veterinary care and rehabilitation.

Unbelievably, a similar scenario played out that evening in the pouring rain, as we went through the whole leash, sit, release routine and a juvenile robin wasn’t quite paying attention to the fact that Three Dogs were on the loose. The next thing I know, Jasper and Tucker were way too interested in a spot under the pine tree, a sure sign of something they Found. Following their two panting snouts, I saw sprawled about a foot away an obviously injured juvenile robin. Not again! And this time I felt responsible. As I carefully picked up the bird (with a poo bag--always have them on hand) I scolded Jasper and Tucker: “Please don’t eat the birdies!”

And once again, I headed out to The Raptor Trust with a hurt and frightened little bird.

But at least I found him before the dogs injured him too much. I have a feeling they weren’t sure what to do once he stopped flapping or running away. And The Raptor Trust would do the best they could for him. (I always give a donation when I drop off a critter to be rehabilitated. It seems only right. Please feel free to learn more about the organization, or if you’re ever in central New Jersey, to stop by. It’s a fascinating place, where, in addition to helping care for raptors, they also keep a few who for one reason or another can’t be returned to the wild. There are all kinds of owls, hawks, falcons, and eagles that you can wander around and see up close and personal.)

I find a lot of things with the help of my dogs. They are such good Finders. Now if only I can Find a way to make small jumpy critters like chipmunks and birds just a little less attractive...

Places Everyone Part II

In my previous post, I began by introducing Pasha lying awkwardly at the bottom of our basement stairs. Like Pasha, our Lilah also likes to sleep at the bottom of the stairs, though in her case, we’re talking about our carpeted center staircase in our current home, with her head resting ever so gently on the last step. Walking down the stairs, I often have to step over Lilah, as she’s really Comfortable and doesn’t think it’s worth moving unless there is a possibility of going Outside or For a Ride. She’ll lie there and blink sleepily at me, trying to determine if circumstances require movement.

Lilah at the bottom of the stairs

And then there was Rosie, who believed that the stairs were nothing more than a series of perfectly sized Rosie Beds, each one offering a slightly different perspective on the world. She loved to sleep on the stairs, about halfway up, where, with a slight lift of her head, she could look out the windows in the living room or dining room or look in the hallway mirror to see reflected what was going on in other parts of the house.

Rosie, on her favorite stair, with The Ball, of course.

Recently, I found Tucker laying on the stairs just like Rosie used to; it was a bittersweet moment as I thought about my little girl who is no longer with us. But Tucker hasn’t slept there since; I think the stairs were Rosie’s Special Sleeping Place--and not anyone else’s.

Tucker's homage to Rosie.

That said, there are other sleeping similarities between Rosie and Tucker. Rosie loved to sleep under the kitchen table with her head resting on the cross pieces of the table legs. In her absence, nearly every evening, Tucker settles into a similar spot. Rosie, though, would push her way under the table; I always felt her fur brush against me as she lounged against the pedestal bar. Tucker, however, manages to sneak under the table and lay right by my feet without signaling his presence. Often the first inkling I have that he is there is when I get up from the table and push my chair in and can’t figure out why it won’t move--until a small sigh of protest alerts me to Tucker’s presence and I apologize profusely for smushing the chair into his little furry body. And just the other day, Tucker sneakily squirmed his way under my desk and fell asleep in the kneehole--and I still have no idea how he managed to do it without me noticing.

I think part of the attractiveness of Under the Table is the pedestal bar that the dogs can lie Against. Come to think of it, I think Against is one of the most common sleeping positions for all of my dogs. Both Jasper and Tucker love to sleep Against the family room couch. Lilah likes to sleep Against the family room chair. In the living room, I’ve seen all three dogs line up, sleeping Against the sofa and love seat there. My dogs have slept Against walls, Against the kitchen island, Against our bed, Against their beds (not in the bed, but Against), Against the closet door (Jasper), Against me, and Against each other.

Jasper, Against the counter

Rosie, Against the chaise.

Jasper, Against my leg.

Lilah, Against the chair.

Tucker and Jasper Against the island, all in a row.

Lilah and Jasper, Against each other.

Of course one of the most special of all Special Sleeping Places is The Couch. Prior to Jasper and Lilah’s arrival, I didn’t allow dogs on the furniture in this house. And by “didn’t allow,” I mean it was just not supposed to happen when I could find out about it. Rosie knew the rules but would break them pretty consistently, sleeping comfortably on the living room couch when she thought I wasn’t around. I would come down the stairs, startling her awake and she’d leap off the couch, stagger around the corner with the dog version of bed head, her fur all mushed on one side of her face. Her expression always spoke volumes, “Couch? What couch? Someone was sleeping on it? Who could that have been? Well, I hope you find him. I’ll just lay down right here--against the couch--because that’s what Good Dogs do and that’s me: a Good Dog. Just lying here next to the couch.”

In our previous house, the dogs were allowed to go up on the couches and chairs. Pasha only slept on the futon couch in the family room. Kelsey, though, thought one of the best Sleeping Places was on the arm of the couch; it was quite wide since the arms were giant pillows. Unfortunately I don't have a picture of this, but a good visual image would be the stone lions that stand guard by the stairs of the New York Public Library.

Now we do allow dogs on the family room couch. Lilah sometimes goes on it , though her favorite spot is the window bench, where she’ll often sleep amidst the other cats (we’ve always felt Lilah was part cat.)

Lilah on the window bench, hanging out like the cat she is.

The other cats on the window bench.

Tucker sleeps on the couch every once in a while. But Jasper, the Comfort Hound, well, he owns the couch. It doesn’t matter how many people are on the couch, Jasper will find the tiniest of openings and just kind of squeeze and pour his long lanky body into it. Somehow--and we’re never quite sure how he does it--Jasper managers to start small on the couch, but expand over time, until there’s barely enough room for him and one single human. And of course, Jasper needs a pillow for his head, though a human lap may be substituted in a pinch.

The couch is for dogs, right? Lilah, Tucker and Jasper get comfortable.

Dogs and a cat (Dawn) sleep on and around me, on the couch.

Speaking of laps, it almost goes without saying, but for Dawn and Athena, a lap is really the Most Special Sleeping Place. From what I understand from the two of them, a Lap is an Inalienable Right for Cats. Both of them will, when the mood strikes, demand access to a Lap, with all sorts of plaintive mews and sad cat sounds. If a Lap is not forthcoming, the demands may get louder, or the cat at hand may stomp off into another room looking for a more responsible and responsive lap. (I swear, if, before I had cats as pets, someone told me that cats can stomp, I would have laughed. Really.) The best Lap, of course, is the one the belongs to a person who is busy, preferably working on something really important, more than likely with a keyboard in front of her.

Sometimes, if a Lap isn’t available, and it’s cold in the house, a Very Good Special Sleeping Place is what we sometimes refer to as The Dog Warmer. Though it is nothing more than a fluffy dog bed folded in half (for added height and comfort), it happens to be situated directly in front of a heating vent. In this case, the real estate adage about the importance of location truly applies. Both dogs and cats take advantage of the warm air that flows from the vent. Of course this only works for about half the year; in the summer, when the cool breeze of air conditioning blows over the bed, it loses some of it's attractiveness.

Dawn (and Athena in the background) on the Dog Warmer.

No surprise to folks who share their lives with cats, Dawn and Athena are often in search of Warmth. A patch of sunlight makes any spot in the house an instant cat bed. And there's something about seeing a cat soaking up the rays to make nearly any human feel warm just to watch. It's as if the cats are radiating heat thoughts.

Athena, as Meatloaf, finding her place in the sun.

Dawn, making sure the sun reaches kitty belly.

Lest any reader of this blog wonder, let me be perfectly clear that all animals who reside in my home are provided a wide variety of designated pet beds and sleeping spots. And sometimes--sometimes--they are actually used by the designated animals: dogs in dog beds, cats in cat beds. Sometimes there’s a bit of a change-up, but everyone has comfortable places to lay their weary heads after a hard day’s bite.

Jasper the Moose pours out of the small dog bed.

Sweet little Lilah looks dwarfed by the big bean bag dog bed.

Athena and Dawn curl up in the dog bed. (It's okay since it's not meant for cats.)

And yes, every animal eventually winds up on the bed that Brian and I sleep in. Sometimes all at the same time. Because it is the Most Special Sleeping Space. And everyone is welcome.

Though it's hard to catch them all in on place, here are 4/5 of my menagerie, on my bed.