It caught absolutely no media attention. Last night, sleep was tragically murdered.
Pure, innocent as a child, sleep snatched away in a series of tragic events.
It began with fireworks– thumps, bangs, and whistles till 9 PM. Max, the older dog, is terrified of fireworks and gunshots. He refused to go out and relieve himself before bedtime. Ran, hid somewhere dark and quiet. He’s been known to sleep in the shower.
At 3:45 AM, I awakened to Max’s scratches on the door to go out. Thirty minutes later, Maggie came to my side of the bed, to be petted, and to remind me that Max was still outdoors.
Max was back in. Apparently, I’d spent too much time petting Max; because there would be consequences later, when Maggie insisted on equal petting time.
Sometime, in the subsequent, early morning hours, the smoke alarms burst forth, with an impromptu, earsplitting, screeching chorus. My first instinct, upon being awakened abruptly, was to go on a smoke detector smashing rampage–but came to my senses.
By that time, Max was, once again frightened. The death circle completed. There was no point in going back to bed. Sleep had been bashed into oblivion.