It’s 3 a.m. and once again I’m up, just as I am nearly every night. No, it’s not insomnia, at least not any more. It’s Moxy.
Years ago we found a puppy on the streets of Queens, tied by a rope leash to a fence in an industrial area, clearly abandoned. She was an unruly little monster, sassy, stubborn and smart as hell. She has a dominant personality and immediately tried to call the shots with Luna and Nova, our two very well-mannered older dogs. And among the puppy challenges was housebreaking, so to help the new addition alert us when she needed to go out I hung a cord with bells from the back door in the kitchen. Moxy quickly learned that nosing those bells would result in the nearest human letting her out; once she grew tall enough she also discovered the doorbell button on the outside would get her back in.
Nearly 14 years later and those bells still remain. Luna and Nova both passed away after long lives and now it’s Moxy who is the old-timer, pestered by Rex and Loki, who quickly learned the ‘bell = yard’ system. And in her geriatric state, Moxy tends to like an early morning visit to the yard… very early. Every night, somewhere between midnight and 3 a.m., I’m woken to the incessant ringing of the bells on the back door. I can yell for her to go lay down but she won’t listen, she’s deaf as a brick these days. So I get up, let her out, and sit checking my email while she does her business. Sometimes I start writing… and sometimes I’m still writing even after she comes in.
Not tonight though. I’m going back to sleep now.