Man vs Woman vs Dog

Today is Phila's one year birthday. And we are gonna have to work out some shit because we have issues.

For one, Phila believes that when Robin leaves for work at 5:15 every morning, it is her job to alert me every four minutes that he is gone, and to ask me what we intend to do about it. I have explained to her that the most sensible thing to do about it is to go back to sleep but it turns out that Poodles are quite judgmental about people sleeping in. Is that a French thing? I always imagined that the French are the kind of people who sleep late, what with the effort they put out during the day not gaining weight and bringing up their bebes to be superior to ours. I never thought of them as an "early to bed, early to rise" nation, like I imagine the Swedes to be. I bet all Swedes are up by 6AM. It's probably the law over there. Remind me to research this. After my nap. And a snack. Oh, you know what? Never mind. I don't care anymore.

Anyway, my Poodle must have some Swedish in her. Or Nazi. She barks in my ear as soon as Robin drives away. She looks at me with disgust, as if I had just suggested we, I don't know, sleep until 7. 

Phila, shut up! I say.  She probably thinks that's her name: Philashutup. Or, Philagolaydown. Or, goddamn fucking Robin. 

I lay there in bed, hours before I have to get up, bemoaning my wretched life and wondering what I will eat for dinner that night. Then I give up and, laying all the Jewish guilt I have on her, I get out of bed. My guilt-mongering, however, has no effect on Phila, what with her French background of ill-hidden disgust of Jews and overweight women. 

"Eet wouldn't keel you, Madame," she mutters to herself but loud enough for me to hear, "to rise with zee sun and take some exercise with me. I have noticed ow your grande shadow all but obscures zee sunlight on my slim body."

I've asked Robin to train her not to wake me when he leaves for work, but Robin's mornings are full enough with showering, making coffee and reading the morning tome I've written him the night before which lists and explains all the reasons I am mad at him. I've found that leaving vitriolic notes are much healthier than having face-to-face fights in a marriage. In a face-to-face, you have to listen to the other person. Well, actually, no you don't but you have to wait until they are done talking. And even if you spend all the waiting time formulating your next cutting remark, it's pretty much a lost few minutes. Whereas a letter allows one to say everything she needs to say. Plus a recap. Plus questions at the end of the chapter to make sure her husband was reading carefully and understands exactly why his remark four years ago that he's not a fan of cumin in the guacamole was so hurtful that she cannot let go even now. Sometimes I even add a little quiz at the end of the letter. 

The other morning, I summoned all my compassionate/stern parenting skills and made Phila get up on my bed with me when Robin left. To my surprise, she actually stopped barking and jumped up. I fell back asleep. When my alarm went off at 7:30, I opened my eyes and realized I didn't have a pounding headache. I also realized that my bed and I were covered in white fluff. Because Phila had chewed open a small hole in the corner of my pillow and taken out all the stuffing. Right from under my face while I slept on the pillow. Which, by the time I woke up, was nothing more than a flat pillowcase.

"Fuck you, Phila," I said to her by way of a morning greeting.

She just smiled. I have a feeling I am going to be getting a morning letter from her tomorrow.