A Werewolf In Tilley

At two thirty this morning Zeppelin, our two year old Siberian Husky, needed a stretch, a drink, a pee, a munch of his food, a run around the yard, another drink, another pee, and a toss of his gorilla toy all while I was waiting to go back to bed.  Zeppelin is barricaded with the play pen at the front entrance of the house while we sleep other wise he would have several of these late night rendezvous.  We can't allow Zeppelin to remain outdoors at night because he feels it is the perfect time to communicate with the other dogs in the village via "howl" which leads to the tumultuous outbreak of baying, growling, yipping, yapping, woofing, barking and so on.  Zeppelin has accepted these sleeping arrangements and for the most part is cooperative.  However, occasionally he demands to go outside and since Chris is in a sleeping coma, the job tends to fall on me. I whisper the same speech every time as I quietly open the sliding door, "Zeppe be quick, go pee, be quick Zeppe."  He listens to everything I say.  He races quickly to his favorite spot, he quickly does his business, and then he quickly forgets to come back  to the door.  He usually likes to fit in a dozen laps around the yard before running full speed at me with the frozen mouse that he has recently killed and he is keeping around. ( It appears he is able to hunt mice outdoors but not indoors. ) Occasionally while passing me on one of his laps he will flash a sock that he has managed to smuggle outside.  I plead with him in my yelling whisper voice but it's no use. Speaking to him only makes his behavior escalate so I am forced to go through a "pyramid of interventions" in order to get him back inside. By this time the transformation to Asyla (the demon within me) has begun much similar to the transformation of a werewolf.  My eyes begin to bulge while I silently lose my temper on the other side of the door, pointing and sternly motioning for him to come to the door.  I point my face to the roof mouthing, "WHY" while I stiffly walk to the pantry with only the moonlight to guide my way.  My back splits open and seizes up while I bend down to get the box of cereal; all so I can shake the box, lure him in, toss a handful at the front door, secure the playpen gate, and go back to bed.  It takes awhile for my eyes to go back to normal, my jaw to loosen, and my back to go straight again before the beast is asleep. 

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