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The Art of Napping
Preparing for a nap

While slaving away at my computer, my concentration is lured by the gurgly sounds of my dog snoring.  Granted, he is thirteen  complete with a white mug and has earned his right to frequent napping.  But this is his fifth snooze within two hours and I am beginning to suspect  he is taking advantage of his senior status.  Either that or  he has developed  narcolepsy, which I have not ruled out entirely.  Jesse, my dog, (alias Senior Beebs, Poopenheimer, Mr. Stinks-a-lot--his Native name, and Little Diggie) has perfected  the art of napping through daily devotions.   His dedication to napping is similar to my yoga practice; the difference is Jesse remains in perpetual shivasana--the corpse pose.  He prepares for his naps with quick pre-napping exercises, sighing loudly followed by a few short snorts and then the pre-nap itself.  After the pre-nap, there is the complete nap, which is typically longer than the pre-nap.   What differentiates the actual nap from the pre-nap is the twitching.  During the real thing--the dog's paws quaver, his legs warble, and he talks.  While sleeping in this phase, he whimpers or sputters a muted bark, his feet tremble, and his legs begin to mimick running.  If they are against a wall, the legs make a noisey scratching sort of sound; he is dreaming of the bygone days, traipsing through forest and fields, bounding down hills at full throttle with a rock or stick in his mouth looking for a safe place to bury it for later.  After the conclusion of the complete nap is the post nap.  This snippet phase of the napping begins with a hearty shaking of the head (stand clear  of the dog during this exercise) and involves frequent positional adjustments.  Jesse, while in post-nap prefers to either blow spits bubbles or scratch his left ear incessantly before settling into a five minute slumber.  Once the post-nap is over, he waters up in preparation for the cycle to begin again.   He saunters over to the water bowl, slurps, drools, then flings the spittle (it usually lands on the wall or my leg)  as far as he can .  Then, he walks around checking out prospective places for his next doze; once found, he plops down with a  moan that sounds similar to  a squeaky wooden step and within seconds is back in snooze land. 

I suppose I am being critical of the old guy.  Maybe I'm jealous.  Envious of his perserverance, his absolute undeterred allegiance to the art of napping.  Perhaps I'll try some of his techniques, fling some spit around the room, grunt a little, after all I'm dogone tired.

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