Midnight. 12 am. Dead asleep. Still in the absolute depths of my sleep meds. As asleep as I will ever be. Which isn’t that much, because the dog wakens me, whining outside the guest room door.
I get up. Stagger blearily to the back door. Let the dog out, expecting him to pee and come back in.

Does he? No.
Hell no.
He spends a half an hour running around barking at shadows. And recall: it’s the middle of the night. Everything is in shadow.
If he were my dog, I’d have left him out. He’s not my dog. I wait. And wait. And wait, trying to fall asleep in a rocking chair.
He finally whines to be let in.

Now, do please note that this dog does not typically whine. That barking? That’s typical. As is a bit of hound-adjacent baying and siren-induced howling.

I let him in, go back to bed, and instantly fall asleep.
I am awakened by more whining at my door. I look at the clock: 2:38 am.
“No.”
whiiiiiine whiiiine whine-whine
“No. Go back to sleep.”
whiiiine whiiiine whine-whine-whine
(Remember, this dog does not typically whine.)
“No! GO back to sleep!”
I plug my ears and eventually manage to fall back asleep.

Now it is 6 am. I roll out of bed, still groggy from as interrupted night’s repose. I open the guest room door.
Feces. Everywhere. Liquid shit. Everywhere.

Goddamnit, dog.

This is why I like cats.