Okay. So listen. I’ve often heard that having animals around is good for you, physically and mentally. Their presence soothes you.  People who own pets live longer and have few stress-related illnesses such as hypertension.  Many convalescent homes are now letting dogs and cats visit with the patients because it seems to speed up recovery times. In other words, the presence of animals is highly beneficial to us human beings.

Oh yeah? Well, listen to this.

Mary Ellen is off to Maine on a leaf-peeping expedition with a friend of hers. She left two days ago, and she’ll be home late this afternoon. That means, for the last two nights, I am sharing my bed with no other human, just two large German shepherds and two freaking cats that don’t get along with each other…not even a little bit.

Now, a few of you probably are aware that my wife and I own horses.  Actually, we have four equines: a 14-year-old bay Quarter Horse, a 9-year-old palomino Quarter Horse, a 26-year-old Appaloosa, and a 10-year-old Shetland pony.

Well, the barn that these guys all sleep and eat in is about fifty feet from my bedroom, and, periodically, when an argument or a get-together of any sort takes place there, Mary Ellen and I can hear it.

Got all that?

Okay, so then, the other night I was sound asleep in my bed when suddenly from the barn comes this god-awful, high-pitched whinny followed by an ear-splitting array of thuds, bangs and crashes. Two of the horses were fighting and kicking. 

I glance at the clock: 1:30 a.m. I leap out of bed, throw open the shutters and lift up the sash of the window and scream at the top of my lungs into inky blackness of the night towards the barn, “KNOCK IT OFF!!!!!!”

Everything settles down. I listen for a more moments.

Nada,

I close the window, climb under the covers again, pet the dogs, (who have also been disturbed by the noise), and slowly drift back off into La-la Land.

One half hour later, Round Two takes place in the barn.  This time, my two-year-old male German Shepherd, Fritz, (who weighs eighty pounds) starts barking in his deep, measured and resonant voice: WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! He scares the living shit out of one of the cats, who then tears across my face with claws out and dives under the bed.

Startled, Dixie, my ten-year-old female shepherd, jumps off the bed, sits on the floor, and farts long and loud, filling the entire room with the most incredible stench that you could possibly imagine. I mean, this could have melted titanium.

I again catapult out of bed, and, rather than open the window this time, I opt to run out the barn and break up the fight before somebody out there gets hurt. (Also, something tells me that poor old Dixie really needs to “go out”!)

I should probably mention here that I sleep naked. Totally. No nothing. Not even socks. And even though I’m heading outside, I make the snap decision not to don any clothing whatsoever.  I mean, hell. I live in the country, I’ve got no close neighbors, my property lines are bordered with thick trees and bushes, it’s two o’clock in the morning, and I’ve got to make peace out in the barn in a hurry.

So I rush down the stairs followed by two dogs, and go streaking out into my back yard. Dixie makes it out the door by two steps and then stops and takes a dump the size of which would make a woolly mammoth proud.

I fly out to the barn with the sounds of the boxing match getting louder by the second.  I flick on the barn light and I see in one of the stalls the old Appaloosa and the Palomino going at it full force with hooves flying. I run up to the stall, beat on the steel bars with my balled fists and scream, “GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!!!!!”

That startles the horses, and they both turn and bolt out of the stall and into the open pasture.

By that time, I’m freezing my ass off. I’m mean, it’s the middle of the night, the temperature is 33 degrees Fahrenheit, and I don’t have a stitch of clothing on. 

So I turn and bolt back to the house.  For some reason, as I’m making my final, desperate sprint to the door, Fritzy decides that it’s time to play, and he comes bounding up behind me and suddenly shoves his fucking ice-cold nose right up between my butt cheeks. Without breaking stride, I turn to shout and swat at him. As I do so, my bare left foot plunges into the humongous pile of dog crap that Dixie just deposited there not two minutes earlier. I slip on the stuff, crash down on my naked ass and slide about ten feet through the dew-laden grass, bumping painfully over rocks and sticks, and only stopping when my body slams into the side of the house.

When I finally get to my feet again, amidst copious swearing and not-so-veiled threats aimed angrily at both canines, I try to brush the crap off of my foot in the grass. Then, I barrel back into the house, jump into the shower, and rush back into bed.

Now, it’s 2:30 a.m., I pissed . . . And I’m wide awake.

Tell me again how animals are good for your psychological well-being.

I’m listening.

Really.