Snorus Chorus

Out of sheer habit I almost grabbed Pinnie's red leash the other day when I went for a walk down in the paddocks but then sadly remembered that the best dog in the whole world is now pushing up marigolds. The sentimental part of me almost took the leash for a walk anyway for old time's sake but then I thought, "What if someone sees me dragging a leash with no dog attached to it?", so I didn't.

The ache lingers but I must not let my dead dog side-track me from today's topic which is snoring. No, my topic isn't snoring but it is if you know what I mean?

Lots of people snore. Perhaps someone in your bed snores? Someone in my bed certainly does and his name is Cossack. Yes, the very same man you have come to know and love through my Blogs spends two-fifths of his sleeping-life totally silent, thank the Lord for that, two-fifths nostril-whistling what he thinks are melodious tunes like 'Puff the Magic Dragon' and one-fifth snoring like a dysfunctional chainsaw.

I suppose I cannot punish Cossack for his nocturnal crimes as he is unaware of them but what is a woman supposed to do when frightened into wide-eyed sit-up awakeness by the sudden onset of his chainsaw routine?  Sometimes I discuss my options with Coss such as sleeping on the sofa now and then or suffocating him and he seemed to prefer the former option so I either do that or else I just turn Lloyd on FM 101up louder. That helps.

Occasionally, when I am in a silly mood, I play the cutest little bed-time game with Coss who doesn't seem to mind participating in the least. In my school-teacher voice, I ask my sleeping spouse,

"So who's the naughty boy then?"

Coss answers with only a few more revs of the chainsaw so I raise his hand high in the air for about twenty seconds. He doesn't even notice so, when my arm gets tired, I drop his hand and it clunks down, often onto his own nose which stops the snores abruptly after a bit of a shocked snort.

The other technique that works well is tickling Cossack's nostrils but he tends to react by assuming I am an extremely annoying mosquito and swatting me hard across my hand. That is not very nice of him but the good news is that he then tosses and turns and the snores stop for a wee while. I had to do this repeatedly a couple of weekends ago because we turned the clock back for Daylight Saving and he took the liberty of snoring for a whole extra hour, bless his soul.

It's a wonder I could do an honest eight hours work for Neville today after the horrific night I had. It was about 2 am, I think, that I resorted to nostril-tickling after which came a tremendous bellowing from Coss  followed by gurgling noises so terrifying I was nearly catapaulted out of my very own skin.

It was a commotion like you wouldn't believe could issue forth from a throat and two little holes in a man's nose and I truly thought my Coss was experiencing death throes of the kind that kill you so I passionately grabbed him and hollered sweet nothings into his chest. Then he went silent. Completely silent.

I checked for a pulse in his neck but there wasn't one but that might be because I had the wrong part that doesn't pulse. In fact I think I got Cossack's artery and Adam's Apple confused.

"COSS! ARE YOU OK? COSS! ", and I shook him vigorously and started CPR but forgot how many chest compressions to do so blocked his nose tight while I tried to remember.

Next thing my silent corpse started laughing because, as it turned out, he was playing a very cruel wide-awake joke on a distressed spouse. It was shocking to think that Coss could pretend to be dying just to test the strength of my feelings for him so, in a daze of relief,  I found myself staggering to the fridge for a consolation-to-my-frazzled-nerves munch.

I was delighted to find an Easter-egg behind the marmalade and was about to eat it but then didn't because it belongs to my Cossie-Wossie.

"Goodnaht Coss-Boy"

When Cossack just wants to blob after a hard day's work he is a bit undiscriminating when it comes to what he blobs in front of. Basically, he will watch any old crap on TV and I get bombarded with shoot 'em ups and car-chases and sirens while trying to pour my entire heart, soul and guts into a blog here in the office. I tell you, it contaminates my train of thought something dreadful.

Now, so as not to be unfair to Coss, let me make it quite clear that, unlike some social deviants, he can differentiate between TV and real life. He is not a serial killer or weirdo but I truly believe he would intervene if I were being attacked. He would leap on my assailant after only about two minutes hesitation and chop his head off with a shiny sabre, thereby making him a monogamous killer only. That is not nearly as bad as a serial one.

However my spouse can be ungrateful as well as heroic. Take this morning for instance when he searched forever for his vitamins before finally accosting moi as to their whereabouts.
"Bernadette, WHERE ARE MY VITAMINS?".
"Oh, your vitamins. Coss, I've simplified things in the medicine cabinet by putting everything in alphabetical order. So your vitamins will be near the back behind the Ural effervescent sachets and Vermox worm tablets but in front of the Zovirax tube. I reckon I'd make someone an incredible P.A with my organisational skills"

"Yeah, you may as well get paid for what you are good at", Cossack muttered and then made a joke that he laughed at all by himself about me being an expert 'Pain in the Ass".

That's when I grabbed him by the ear and escorted him to the sofa.
"When couples have been married as long as us, Coss, they need to bond more so sit down."

His eyes lit up with anticipation of who-knows-what until I snuggle-buggled up to him and started up the first of a whole series of  'The Waltons' I had hired from the library. Believe it or not, Coss had never watched a single episode in his entire life.

No "Goodnaht John-Boy" and "Goodnaht Mary-Ellen"  featured in Cossack's childhood memory-bank. I knew there and then that this serious deprivation was responsible for his corrupted head and he needed urgent re-programming. The Waltons, that large and loving and poor but rich family who resided so blissfully beneath Walton Mountain were exactly what the doctor ordered.

Coss stared at the screen in disbelief at first when a raggedy bunch of kids in denim dungarees ran around the screen but he and I watched three episodes without interruption, I kid you not.

When Elizabeth's sick racoon died he wiped away a tear which I think was genuine or it may have been a result of me twisting his head so hard in order to eyeball him and check whether or not he deserved an 'Emotional Warrant Of Fitness'.

When Grandpa got merry on the Baldwin sisters' "Recipe", Coss laughed his head nearly right off and when Mary-Ellen ran away I noticed a little paternal concern contort his features just as if it were his own daughter chasing a sweet-singing minstrel into the sunset.

Honestly, all the appropriate emotions were forth-coming from my Coss so right now I am recording the miracle in this very Blog and thinking smugly how I personally had transformed him into a man who values all that is wholesome and beautiful..

"Good naht, Coss- Boy!", I called affectionately from around the office door to the sofa.
'Good naht, Bernadette", he replied affectionately from the sofa to the office.

But then I saw him grab the remote and pollute the precious moment with, "Well, raht now I maht just watch me a bit of good ol' violence".

And the living-room was assaulted with a blood-curdling scream with enough decibels to raise the corpse of Grandpa Walton.