Animal conversations... mostly one-sided, of course.

As you know- and if you don't, why aren't you taking notes?- we have four dogs. A German Shepherd and three Chihuahuas. Luna was our first and we refer to her as his girlfriend.

For your enjoyment- a photo!



After years of being a good dog and listening to us when we tell her what to do, she's gotten it into her head to run to the front yard and across the street at people. She barks like a psycho, but she's a good dog and wouldn't bite anyone. The problem is the whole "across the street" thing because our street is fairly busy. In the old days, we used to leash all our dogs and walk all the way out to the backyard with them and wait on them... because we don't have a fenced yard.

Then all my health issues started and I can trust Gypsy off-leash. The Chis were a little testier because they don't listen quite as well as she does. Its all DG's fault too, because I train them and he un-trains them. Normally, I stand on the deck, overlooking the rather large backyard. There's a large pine tree on one side, blocking fast access to the front and then the driveway and our vehicles to the other side. Normally, that's enough blockage for anyone to react... except DG and his un-training.

Back when we had a Rottweiler (Kodiak, best dog EVER!), I trained him to simple, one word commands. "Sit", "Stay", "Down", "up", "come", "no", "Kisses", and "bang" for "play dead". And I did this for DG's benefit. Multi-word phrases confuse him more than long division. And what does he do to poor, yet genius-smart Kodiak?

"Sit down!"

"Stay there!"

"Get up!"

"Lay down!"

Kodiak took about fifteen seconds to process each command from DG, but he did figure it out. Not so with the Chis. They simply don't listen to him. When I say "NO!" or "STOP!" or even: "DON'T YOU DARE!", they stop what they're doing. All the dogs and sometimes people walking down the street.

In the last couple weeks, Luna decided to dart to the front of the house- with a rather small yard and a far-too-busy street. The other day, I was upstairs in a half-dressed mode (as I had just showered) when Luna took it upon herself to chase some religious door-to-door people. All the way across the street. One of our down-the-street neighbors was walking by on another day and she took off after him. She's not attacking anyone, just barking and wagging her tail so hard it has an effect on her running.

So I said, "That's it- she's going to be leashed! Its a pain in the ass, but its better than a Dead Luna."

Last night, DG had this conversation with Luna. Where I put in the ellipsis (the "..."), that's where he pauses as if waiting for her to answer.

"Why do you do that? Hmmm? ... Why do you run? ... You're going to have to get a leash... I know! You'll wear a leash and then the other dogs will laugh at you... because... because you'll be the only one on a leash and they'll think its funny. ... Yes they will! .... Yes they will! They'll think its funny! You'll have a leash..."

Then he disintegrated into a weird baby talk that sounded like: "Oh-boo-boo-doo-boo!"

Luna had puppies on June 30th and one of my online friends bought one of the pups. All the other pups went home two weeks ago. Hers is still here because she lives down south and we had it all worked out that my parents would take the pup to her, like they've done for us before. Even though DG is perfectly capable of taking the pup himself. Now, my parents would be leaving in two days. Today, DG says he can take the pup. Well, that's just great.

For the last week, I've told him to get one of our cat carriers out so I could clean it up for the pup (dusty, has cat hair in it). He finally got it out today while I was out running errands. He assembled it and cleaned it up. On the side is written: "Millennium Falcon" because when we got it, we had two kittens that he'd named Han Solo and Chewbacca. Har-har, right? About six months later, Han Solo became sick and passed away. We ended up with more cats, but that's a story for another time. The point is, it says "Millennium Falcon" and Han Solo is no longer with us.

After he got done wiping all the dust off the outside of the carrier, he said: "Jabba the Hutt has Han Solo. Get it? Get it!?" then he picked up the carrier and moved it around making "schwooosh-schhwoooosh" noises.

Oh, and for your pleasure, a photo of Martini. Because who doesn't love cute puppy photos?



and another one, because I think its cute.



So, DG is going on a trip. Now, I'm not going to blast all over the Internet where he's going, exactly, but obviously, he's going to North Carolina. It just so happens that the new owner is in NC right now, visiting some family. She was going to drive back home- to where my parents are actually ending up on their trip- to pick up the pup and then back to NC. But now its all worked out that since DG is literally driving past where she is now, he'll be taking the pup. Because I'm not telling you where they all are, these town names are made up. These may or may not be actual town names, but these are NOT the towns where she is, where he'll end up.

I sent her a message to ask where she was in NC and I told DG (again, NOT the real town).

Me: "She's in Jackboro."

DG: "Smackboro?"

Me: "JACKboro!"

DG: "Markboro?"

Me: "JACK-BORE-OHH!"

DG: "Jackville?"

Me: louder, more enunciation, then less enunciation: "JACK... BORE... OHHH! JACKBORO!!!"

DG: "Is that near Townville?"

Me: "YES! YES, it is NEAR TOWNVILLE!"

He breaks out a nineteen year old road atlas. Nineteen years old! And he shows me the route he takes- going over Jackboro and near Townville to get to his destination which is near Fayetteville (real town name, actually). Obviously, in nineteen years, things have changed. I'm up on Google maps and he's holding that nineteen year old atlas.

Me: "Where do you go? Through Ohio, into the Virginias?"

DG: "Yeah, right here." *points at the old atlas map*

Me: "So, just take Highway [whatever number] to Greensboro and then down to Jackboro, then cut over to Townville and you'll be fine."

DG: "No, I won't, I need to be on Highway [different number] to get to [parents' house] from here."

Me: "That's not what you said-"

DG: "I go through Knoxville, you know, Knoxville, Tennessee!" (he was trying to match my level of frustration).

Me: "Fine! Do you go through Ashville?" I even pointed on his two-decade old map.

DG: "No, I go through KNOXVILLE!"

Me: "But, to get to [parents' house] you have to go through Ashville, then up to here [pointing at a town] then here and then past Townville!"

DG: "No, I go through ASHVILLE after Knoxville then up to here [pointing at same town]..."

Me: "WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST SAY?"

Let's just say it was a long and frustrating day. So its all worked out. DG will meet up with my friend in Townville- which is just a bit out of his way, but wouldn't be if he took another highway instead of insisting on taking the original highway... Its all worked out and I don't feel like smothering him with a pillow anymore.

By the way, I got my very first hate-mail. I was told that I'm a sociopath and that they feel sorry for my son (I'd mentioned my son in a Regretsy comment) because his mother is obviously a schizophrenic. *waves at lurker* Also, upon reading this blog, I've also got my head so far up my ass that it warrants public exposure.

I don't really know what that means- because how much more public can I get? This is public blog, its open to public comments, and I've linked to it through my signature on several message boards, the Regretsy site (my screen name is the link) and there's a Facebook group. But apparently, this person (who has some issues with punctuation and spaces between sentences) is going to submit this blog to "fail blog" (which is a pretty funny website, if you need to waste some time, go on a read it- its one of those time-killer sites). I did reply to one of the emails (there were two- one calling me a mental patient and the other telling me I had some cranial-rectal issues) and said: "You'll have to be more specific, I do several blogs and I say a lot of things on Regretsy."

But, I'm still confused as to how I have my head so far up my ass because I post ridiculous conversations with my disabled husband, with his knowledge and permission. But hey, more readers are more readers and I can't complain about that, now can I?

A few conversations from today... (swear words inside)

I post on Regretsy as one of those smart-mouthed snark-bitches. That is, if you believe what other people say when someone else is wittier than they are and they can't come up with anything clever as a retort.

Today, Regretsy featured this post. I was the first comment. Now, over on Regretsy, we don't tolerate that whole "FIRST!!" bullshit that some other sites seem to either enjoy or ignore. Either way, no one who has ever posted there will post "FIRST!!" unless they're being ironic or it happens to play into the original post. That particular subject is about some kind of fetish involving heavy-duty knit sweaters. And since its Regretsy, my post was filled with snark and attitude. I didn't think I'd be first, but that doesn't matter either way.

This is what I said:

"I want to get that orange fuzzy thing for the disabled guy. He’s always bitching about being cold. No kink involved here, I just want to stifle the urge to smother him during the winter.

With that, I could have the best of both worlds- he’d shut the fuck up and I would feel like I was actually smothering him."

In less than a minute, I received THREE "thumbs down" clicks! I thought, "Damn, it wasn't THAT bad!" When I refreshed the page, I had more thumbs down clicks. I posted it on my Facebook- how I was thumbs-downed so quickly for such a silly comment. I don't care, I mean it doesn't hurt my feelings. Usually the thumbs-downers are a bunch of whiny, self-righteous people who swear by their "art" no matter how bad it is. But hey, being on Regretsy brings sales and if something sells, who cares how they found your link?

Some of my friends commented on my status with much hilarity because most of them were also of the Regretsy ilk. I read their comments out to DG and would check back on my "thumbs down" count. The highest I saw was fifteen.

DG said: "That's mah Fan Club."

On the other extreme, I posted this comment:

"Holy shit! I’ve never had a comment “hidden due to low rating” before! A banner day for me! Huzzah!

The disabled guy just said, “That’s my fan club.”

*high five* with asterisks!"

That one received (at last check) forty-four thumbs up clicks! So my fan club is doubly strong to his. (thumbs up and thumbs down cancel each other out so if you get fifteen thumbs down and sixteen thumbs up, it shows as +1).

Later in the afternoon, DG convinced me to join him at Wal-Mart. Not my favorite place to be. Too much walking, too little gratification. In the middle of our excursion, he asked which tulips I liked. I like all tulips. Tulips are tulips. He half-mumbled something about different kinds of tulips and that was all. About twenty minutes passed as we continued our shopping and then left.

As we were driving away, he said: "There were all colors. Orange, and purple. Not orange, that would be ridiculous." and he rattled off a few more colors.

Me: "How is orange ridiculous?"

DG: "For a flower its ridiculous."

Me: "Orange is a color found in nature. We have orange flowers in our backyard. We planted them." (which are not tulips, but still orange flowers)

**Proof**


DG: "Tulips aren't orange!" (except when they are)

And he left it at that.

For the rest of the drive home, he alternately "sang" and bopped his head to whatever imaginary music was in his head. If I looked over at him, he would stop (bopping his head, that is). If I continued to look he'd giggle almost maniacally. I had to swing by the grocery store to pick up some photos I had printed and he said, "I'm gonna let you go in without me."

I replied: "Thank the gods, because people can see you head-bopping."

He started to bop his head and sing: "Look at me! You can see me!" followed by more maniacal laughter.

Just now, as I was typing this, I was telling Ceej about it. He shook his head and said, "I don't think it was me. I was possessed!"

And he thinks orange tulips are ridiculous.

The Disabled Guy is a Spaz- the doctor says so...

In January, DG had a follow-up appointment. Well, follow-up isn't the right word. Once a year, he sees a GP (general practitioner, for those not up on the hip, hospital lingo). Once a month, he sees the anti-coag clinic (that's anti-coagulation, for people on blood thinners). So, in January, he saw his doctor and that doctor prescribed Baclofen.

Baclofen is a muscle relaxer and anti-spastic. But we didn't know that at the time. A few weeks go by and DG tells me that he hasn't received his Baclofen. Of course, he didn't say that at the time. What he said was: "I didn't get this drug I'm supposed to get." Which was DG-speak for "call and figure this out with as minimal information as possible..."

The pharmacist at the VA looked it up and said that all his drugs were current and if he didn't have something, just wait, it was probably en route. And then I forgot about it.

Hey, what can I say? I had a lot of crap going on in my own life. In case I haven't crammed it down your throats as well, I've got Fibromyalgia, which is a lovely, debilitating disorder that causes a lot of pain. But I digress.

Today, DG went up to the VA hospital and saw the seizure people. The clinic has its own goofy name (and by "clinic", I mean in the hospital, its not a free-standing place) and they see people who have seizure issues. DG started having seizures about six months after the stroke (the day before my twenty-sixth birthday, in fact). They tried to wean him off seizure meds, but after a short time, he started having them again. So, back on the drugs he goes. And now he sees the seizure clinic once a year (unless there's a problem, of course).

Now, DG doesn't care what clinic he sees. He goes to the appointment, gets seen, says everything is fine, even if it isn't. He slipped on the ice a couple of years ago and quite possibly broke a rib or two. He landed on his paralyzed arm (he was wearing a puffy winter coat). Anyway, he was at the hospital for another reason and I really don't remember why I was with him, other than to make him go to Urgent Care for his ribs. The doctor looked at his ribs- bruised, visibly swollen, it hurt to even raise his arm- and that's the doctor raising his arm for him, since DG can't raise his arm. X-rays showed no fracture, so the doctor called it a "bone bruise" and sent him on his way with a bottle of Vicodin, some anti-inflammatories, and instructions on using ice and heat.

In the truck for the drive home he said, "Wow. How hard do you have to hit a bone to bruise it?"

I replied: "You know how hard you have to hit it to break it?" When he nodded I added, "A little less than that."

He wasn't amused.

So, today, he comes back from his appointment with a note. The note tells me nothing- its just a doctor's name, a phone number and the word Baclofen. In DG speak, which took about three minutes to get out, I was told I had to call the doctor at that number, inform them that the order for the drugs had been written but never put into the computer. And apparently, doctors can't just put in other doctors' requests all willy-nilly.

While I was on hold, I showed DG my daily photo submission on Flickr. Apparently, he doesn't think I'm artsy and doesn't believe I was naked in the photo I took of myself. I was trying not to say stuff while on hold, because at the moment you blurt out: "Of course I was naked in that photo, that's my ASS right there!" the person you're waiting for gets on the phone. Here's the photo in question if you feel like clicking. If you're on my Facebook list, then you've already seen it.

I got the medicine order all sorted with a receptionist. I asked if he knew what Baclofen was for and he stated that he did not (he was merely a data entry/receptionist person). I said I'd Google it. And while I was on hold while Mr. Receptionist did what he had to do, I found Baclofen.

Its a muscle relaxer and antispastic. That's right. Apparently, the Disabled Guy is a Spaz. And he takes medicine for it.

The Disabled Guy talks to puppies...

Two puppies to be exact. I mentioned how he renames the pups and he finally got around to it this past week. Of course, Easton is Sheena Easton. Martini and Eli I caught on video. Drake and Moose are still Drake and Moose but he elongates their vowels- "Draaaaaaayke!" and "Mooooooooose!" Wah-lah! is still Wah-Lah! but that's because he can't come up with anything more ridiculous to call her. (she hasn't been renamed by her new owners yet).

Also, last night (Thursday night, if you're reading this on a day that isn't Friday), DG had a conversation with himself. Ceej and I left for the orchestra meeting and even said, "Bye" to him as we left. I called him about an hour later to ask if he'd make a swing so we could use it as the prize in the raffle for fundraising. He asked, "What about the birdhouses?" I told him those are for our kid alone and the swing raffle would help lower the overall cost for the parents of every kid. So he said he'd do it. We really don't have much else to offer up in the way of fundraising or volunteering. He can't do it, and I simply don't enjoy sitting in uncomfortable chairs without pain medication for hours on end. But I digress. You didn't come here to read about my whiny little rant about fundraising.

You came to watch these videos.



I don't think an intro is really all that necessary because the videos speak for themselves.

Quite literally...



In this one, though, we reference the movie "Undercover Blues" and the character who called himself "Muerte" which is "death". The Blues (Kathleen Turner and Dennis Quaid) called him "Morty".



This video is supposed to be about the puppy and not DG's chest hair.

"Y'all clean up your room!" (pics and video!)

As I mentioned, the puppies live in our kitchen till they're old enough to go home. That's because our kitchen is the warmest room in the house and it is also the only room with a tile floor that is easily blocked. And trust me... we need the tile. People think Chihuahuas are small and not very messy. Well, that's true. But when there's six of them, the mess is times-six. So much poo.

Even though the sweet puppies are in the kitchen, we still have to use the kitchen. Most times, that's not an issue, but first thing in the morning, well, let's just say it takes work. During the day we try to keep up. At the point when they go home, people ask me if I miss them. No. I do not. By the time they go home, I'm just so very tired of the poo.

But I digress. DG has conversations with the puppies. As if they're human. As if they're not babies. And as if they can do what he's ordering them to do.

Nearly daily, he says, "Y'all, clean up your room!"

And this is the response the puppies give him:



DG: "Don't look at me like that! You need to clean up your room!"

And the puppies' response:



DG: "Y'all think you're so cute, dontcha? Well, you're not as cute as you think you might be!"

And the puppies say:



DG: "Hey, you're supposed to pay attention to me. Don't ignore me! Oh, sure, just go to sleep. Be that way. You'll be laughing out of your face when you clean up this room."

Puppies? What do you have to say?



Now, as you can see, I took these photos all in a row. And the one absolute consistent was the single puppy sleeping in the center with his head resting on the edge of the bed. That would be Moose. The big white one that keeps moving around, that's Martini. The darker brown one to the left is Easton. There's a white one in the foreground with Moose, also sleeping. That would be little Eli. Eli eventually moved to get away from the flashy thing and was curled with little Wah-Lah!, and the other (larger) brown one in the back is Drake. I'm telling you their names because all but one has been re-named (that would be Wah-Lah! who is having someone come look at her tomorrow).

Of course, DG doesn't call them by their names. We named all the puppies till their owners re-named them. In the last litter Luna had, DG named them all different names- as in: Angel Eyes, Two Socks, Speedy Rodriquez, Brownie, and The Brain. So far, he hasn't named this litter- except Easton.

I promised that there would be video. And, here it is... these are short snippets of video and two of them are actually one long one broken in two parts. In one of those, I sound incredibly annoyed with DG. And I kind of am. More than once a day, he makes the same exact joke when he says, "Which one is this?"

I reply: "That's Easton."

He exclaims: "Sheena Easton!"

And I tell him yet again that her new owner is a coach and a teacher and she had her team name the pup- Easton, after a baseball bat.



Short discussion with the pups.



Part one- (DG spilled some chili he was reheating for lunch, which is what we're telling Luna to leave alone).



Part two-



And because I mentioned it in the above video, here's the video where Drake gets Easton pinned in the playpen.



There you have it... in the next few weeks, before the pups all go to their new homes, there will be more video and quite possibly longer conversations with the puppies. Because we all know how puppies always do what their told. As if they're human. As if they're not babies.

Conversation with a puppy

So, like I said, Luna had six puppies. All gorgeous, all healthy.

The other day, I was petting Luna because she's not getting much attention what with being the mum to six puppies and stuck in the kitchen till they're old enough to be left alone and she had one pup with her. After I petted and cooed at her, I reached over to pet the puppy, who was nursing.

It growled at me! I've never had a puppy growl at me before! So what did I do? I grabbed my camera and took video.




Today, I was re-telling DG about the growler and how we're not supposed to do that because it can make the pups aggressive. He said: "That puppy. He was telling you to leave him alone."

Me: "I know."

DG: "He said, 'Oooh, if I had teeth, I'd tear you up!'... that's what he said."

Me: "He'd tear me up?"

DG: "He did. 'If I had teeth, she wouldn't do that! grrrrr!', like that."

Me: "I see. He told you this?"

DG: "Yeah, we've talked about it. Had conversations."

Me: "You talked about it? Had conversations? Maybe even a dialog about it? With the puppy? The small dog? The young Chihuahua?"

He called me a smart-ass after that. I don't know why. *blinks innocently*


Here's a video from the other day when I cleaned up the playpen the pups are usually kept in. DG's in the video a little bit, and you really need to ignore my annoying voice. I don't think I sound as nasally as I do in the video, but hey, that's just me. For the record, Gypsy was whining because she couldn't get into the kitchen to play with the puppies.

Banana Sandwiches and Puppies.

Those two things aren't related. Firstly, our Chihuahuas, Luna and Jasper, had puppies last week. (Wednesday, June 30th). The Disabled Guy was gone on his little useless trip till the previous weekend. I had been sleeping on the sofa just in case Luna had her puppies. The sofa is the one DG built and is nice to sit on, but absolutely horrible to sleep on.

But more on puppies later, because there will be more photos at the end. To hold you over, here's a group shot from yesterday.



Our son got a full time job at Bird's Eye Foods. He's exhausted and has no life now, beyond going to work and coming home. Jase also has a medical problem and can only eat certain foods at times. Its difficult to explain and let's just leave it at that. One of the things Jase takes to work is bananas. This batch of bananas ripened far too quickly and DG decided he would make banana sandwiches for lunch.

I hear you saying, "Oooh, delicious!" No. Don't say that. Not at all. He doesn't make them with peanut butter or even peanut butter and chocolate sauce. No, he makes his banana sandwiches with Miracle Whip. You heard me. "The Bread Spread from Kraft" and sliced bananas. If you think sliced bananas are slimy, try spreading Miracle Whip on the bread first.

And about the slicing, he doesn't slice them in small pieces, like coins. He slices them long-ways, so they cover more bread. Now, you can see where this is going because I'm sure you all remember that DG only has the use of one hand. In this situation, it would make sense to slice them small, like coins. No, he still tries to slice them long-ways. So, being the good wifey that I am, I offer to help- even though I detest the slimy feel of Miracle Whip and bananas. DG doesn't like to ask for help and after 15 years, I just know when he needs it, and sometimes, I wait for him to ask (or, in most cases, he swears a lot and then says, "DEAR! C'mere!"). But he waited till he mangled a banana before saying anything to me. I took the now-slime covered butter knife and sliced the second banana long-ways and fixed the second sandwich.

DG said: "Thanks. I could never slice those got-damned bananas."

Me, slicing easily: "Not even before." (as in, before the stroke).

DG: "Not even. I always tear it up." Then he picked up his two sandwiches and said, "You can tell mine from yours. Mine's like a Whopper and this is like a cheeseburger!"

Me: "Like a Whopper?"

DG: "Like a Whopper."

As he was getting his two little snack-size bags of chips, I stood next to the gate at the kitchen door. We have the gate up to keep the other three dogs away from Luna and the puppies- who are in a playpen in the kitchen (the warmest room in the house). I moved the gate for him to leave the kitchen and Luna was sitting up in the playpen, looking at DG as he walked by.

He said: "Look, Luna knows. Like a Whopper." She wagged her tail. He repeated, "Like a Whopper. She knows."

Once in the living room with his two sandwiches and two snack-size bags of chips, he sighed. I asked what was wrong. He replied, "This isn't going to be enough. I'm really hungry."

He ate half of the first sandwich. And he sighed again.

I asked, "Would you like me to make you another nasty sandwich?"

DG: "Could you make two?"


Now, about the puppies!

I was officially diagnosed with fibromyalgia on Monday, June 28th. For those who don't know, it causes widespread pain through the muscles and it makes the sufferer extremely tired. Since I'd been sleeping on the sofa for over a week, I was not sleeping well. The more tired you are, the more pain you're in. So, when DG would get up in the morning, I would go to bed and tell him to come get me if something happened with Luna. So, you can see how him being gone was bad for me at this time. While he was gone, I had to sleep on the sofa, stay awake instead of napping (because my kids have lives and jobs and aren't always home), and I had to cook dinners and do dishes and just loads of stuff I don't normally do on a daily basis.

But I digress.

On Wednesday, June 30th, I told him, "I'm going to take a nap. Come get me if something happens." This was around 630 AM. I fell asleep quickly, the bed being much more comfortable than the sofa.

Less than an hour later, DG came upstairs and said that Luna was "panting all weird-like." I asked where she was- she'd gotten into the playpen all by herself (there's a hole in the side for her to come and go). I sat up and told him I'd be down in a minute. I sat on the bed for a minute, then went to the bathroom to get my track pants on. In the possibly three minutes since he woke me till I walked out of the bathroom, he was racing back up the stairs.

Before I could say anything he exclaimed, "There's something coming out of her!"

I asked what it looked like.

DG replied: "Disgusting!"

I had to wait on him to go down the stairs because he was blocking me. He got to the kitchen before me, because I paused to call my friend, Vickie- who is a dog breeder (and where we got Luna and Jasper). When I walked into the kitchen, DG was standing next to the playpen with a look of terror and utter disgust on his face. I had to laugh at him.

Luna went on to have six puppies. All healthy. Four boys and two girls. As they grow, there will be many photos and maybe some video footage of DG with the puppies. Till then, here are some photos...

DG isn't good at holding the puppies for photos. He refuses to hold them with any kind of pressure because he thinks he'll hurt them. But I got two shots of two of the puppies with him holding them.

This is Vato- he's been purchased and his new name is Drake.



This is Chica- she's also been purchased and her new name is Easton.



I held the pups pictured below. In order of birth, they are: Wah-Lah!, Vato, Paco, Pedro, Chica, and Huevo. The new owners re-name them most of the time. But DG will also give them weird nicknames (one from the last litter was called "Speedy Rodriquez" because "Speedy Gonzales" is trademarked, so says DG).

Wah-Lah!, a girl.



Paco- he's my favorite right now, because of his coloring.



Pedro.



Huevo. (Pedro, Wah-Lah!, and Huevo all look alike.)



Group shot!


And here's a photo of the sofa. Its pretty... and pretty uncomfortable as a bed.

And that's our son, being his usual self.