Shattered Peace

I realized yesterday when I was trying to take a nap that there was no room for me on the bed. 

While laying on my side, trying to get comfy, I was being simultaneously squished by four border collies. 

Ranger was wedged up against my backside. 
Bonnie was laying over my feet.
Beth was snuggled in front of me, her head schmooshed under my chin, my arm wrapped around her like a teddy bear. 
Brynn was down toward my knees, laying on her back...all four legs in the air...her typical pose. 

I was content.  Comfortable.  Really happy that all four of them got their Frontline application last week, and VERY pleased they are all on a raw diet.  Since they have been eating raw - no one emits the green cloud of doom much anymore. 

No kids in the house.  Husband fishing at the river.  No one to bother me. 

Ahhhh so Peaceful.  

As I was drifting off to sleep our blissful interlude was violently shattered.   My poor fractured inner child was clinging from the ceiling in utter terror. 

I refer to it as Post Traumatic Missionary Disorder

Post Traumatic Missionary Disorder: is a severe anxiety disorder that can develop after exposure to an event brought on by Missionaries ringing your doorbell while sleeping on a bed with four dogs.  This event involves the threat of death to oneself from shock or to someone else (missionary).  This event overwhelms the individual's ability to cope and manifests in shaking, sudden urges to run missionaries over with vehicles, hysterical swearing episodes, door slamming, and later hanging nasty notes on the door threatening Missionaries with premature visits to whatever deity they are proselyting.  

I was more awake than I ever want to be again.  It reminded me of the my first day in USAF Basic Training when the T.I. flipped my mattress upside down while I was still in it - sound asleep.

It was an abrupt, horrifying blast of distress. 

I love dogs, but I vehemently dislike barking. 

Especially this one's bark

Bonnie is 1/4 Aussie.  She works like a border collie but barks like a deranged psychotic Aussie (no offense to Aussie folk). The high pitched wail from a jet engine turbine is quieter and more comforting.  Bonnie is my nails on the chalkboard barker. 

We all hate it. 

But we love her still the same, even when you to want to shove icepicks in your ears.