The midnight howl of the Doodlebug

The first time it happened, it freaked me out so much that I nearly fell out of bed trying to get down to Darby’s level without actually squashing him. This was back in the day when he was compelled to sleep in the one area next to my side of the bed that practically guaranteed my inability to extract myself from the mattress with an ounce of grace. Fortunately the only witnesses were the rest of the animals who, though they might snicker about it amongst themselves, enjoy the steady schedule of the treat train far too much to risk losing it over the momentary fame they’d receive posting my indelicate bed extractions on YouTube.

I had been awakened from an almost dead sleep, my heart pounding before my brain could begin to process the  
“aaaaooooooooooooooooooooooooooooohhhh…”

It was a long, slow, mournful howl --- the sort of sound you imagine in your head when you’re reading the part of story where the lost, hungry, cold dog is all but ready to give up, just before the hero arrives. The howl of the forlorn and the heartbroken, and it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

  

Just about the time I got to the floor and dropped down to Darby's level, something clicked in my brain as I realized I was the only one panicking. He was in the exact same spot, limbs in the exact same position they had been from the moment my mind registered the sound.

Frak. Did I just imagine the whole thing?

I reached over to ruffle his floppy little head, only to receive a snort-sigh combo in response. (For the uninitiated, the snort-sigh is the affection your dog bestows upon you when they are annoyed at your foolishness but as they still want breakfast on time, they put up with you. Grudgingly.)

Now certain that I had imagined it, I headed back to bed, feeling like an idiot. Even the cats hadn’t bothered to get up, but there I was, Spazmom, jumping at auditory shadows.

Only I wasn’t. The Doodle’s “puppy-mares”, as we’ve now come to call them, have continued to happen in a completely unpredictable fashion ever since, including a couple of times in broad daylight when he’s been sacked-out in the living room while we watched a movie or a sporting event on T.V. There’s no wind-up or wrap-up --- just the one pitiful howl that comes from nowhere and has no encore.

I’ve heard of sleeping dogs snoring, kicking, twitching, chewing and paddling, but never in my world of pet behavior anecdotes have I heard of a dog who howls in their sleep. So help me out, dog peeps: Is this something you’ve heard of or experienced, or is this just another thing that makes the Doodlebug “special”?

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