Sometimes you miss the snoozing critters...

Some weeks don't work out the way you thought they would. I think the word "awry" was invented to cover these situations.
Other words were probably inspired by such weeks, but we can't use them here.
This weekend's edition of Let Sleeping Dogs Lie & Napping Cats Nap is dedicated to everyone who has been away from their beloved critters for any longer than a day and night.
How does such an absence play with your brain? Here’s an example: I've been staying in Texarkana at my Mom's house, the house I grew up in with the tri-color Border Collie Queenie in the backyard and the gray and black cat Pepper roaming the house and neighborhood. (Yeah, we snuck the dog in.)
Mom is the only familiar face at the house now. No animals live there. No grown-ups but Mom and no brothers now. All the kids from the neighborhood long ago moved away. The “home” of my childhood exists only in memories.
While Mom was recuperating after some "surprise" surgery early in the week, I would leave the party that was her hospital room and go "home" to try to work.
When I put the key in the lock, I half expected to hear Queenie barking from the other side of the house. She usually barked to let the folks know I was home – I hope someday to have earned the right to give that spectacular dog one more good hug and let her lick my face like it was coated with gravy. She was magnificent.
Nowadays, though, rather than getting to greet a dog with a “Hush” I found myself alone in the house, quickly turning on all the lights and the TV to keep from being alone with my memories. The place always makes me miss people  and critters right down to the core of my heart.
What I have realized at Mom's house is how well I have been retrained by the dogs and cats that let Martha and I share their Oak Cliff abode. I automatically am careful about where I place garments and food.
 As an example, at Mom's house, I felt uneasy leaving my sneakers on the floor, half expecting to wake and find them gnawed to particles. Our dogs may love us, but one or two of them adore chewable sneakers.  In case dogs came in during the night, I stored my sneakers in Mom’s icebox. I’m kidding.
But I did find myself leaving a bowl of soup or a cookie on a counter and looking back to make sure there was no cat waiting to lap the soup and no dog ready to go counter-surfing for a cookie.
So, that brings us to this dog, Wendy, a Dallas street dog that Martha rescued one evening a few years ago as the poor pup romped along behind some pedestrians and tried to fit in with them.
They were not interested in being her friend. It was their loss. Their giant loss.
Wendy was a puppy and enjoyed some lap time and now she is full-grown, a muscular and taut 50-pounder and she still declares herself to be a lap dog. OK by me.
This photo was snapped by photophone a couple of weeks ago as she took an afternoon nap in my lap. You can see my watch in the photo and that Wendy is paying no attention to the passage of time as long as she’s in the lap of someone who proudly claims her as a member of the family.
I think she’s dreaming of cookies nabbed off the kitchen counter. She’s always happy when she’s chewing on a cookie – never seen her gnaw a shoe.
[To nominate your slumbering critter for the spotlight of Let Sleeping Dogs Lie & Napping Cats Nap, send photos and info to dallrp@aol.com. Readlarrypowell.com is proud to present them to the world to delight animal fans and help insomniacs find inspiration for dropping off. Is there such a thing as a “lapsomniac?” Someone who can't sleep even with a slumbering dog in his lap?]
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