Cruelty From Animals

According to an impromptu survey I conducted this morning outside of S's school, the most disgusting sound in the universe is the sound of husbands eating carrots/salad. While I can say that is annoying, I am going to ignore the survey, and write about the sound that irritates ME the most in the universe. Because, let's be honest, this is all about ME.
I propose that the most revolting sound in the universe is the sound of a dog licking itself. Perhaps it's disgusting because of what they are licking, or maybe it's just that overly wet sound of their tongues, or maybe some combination of the two, but it sends me up a wall. Blech. This sound is infinitely amplified when it is done in my bed, on my pillow, at 1:30 in the morning. What diurnal animal practices personal hygiene at that hour? Who needs to practice personal cleansing at that hour? My dog eats squirrel poop for an appetizer and then needs to be CLEAN at 1:30 in the morning? I don't think so. Squirrel poop nullifies any right that dog has to cleanliness of any sort.
To be fair to the dog, though, his moist licking might not have been so irritating or so revolting had I not already been awake. I was so exhausted last night that I might have actually slept through it. But, naturally, I was awake. Again. For the 1890th consecutive day of my life. Last night's parade was S rather than E. S was in his bed moaning at 1 AM. I heard him through the dimness of deep sleep and went to his room to investigate. He was wide awake: not groggy, not disoriented, not potentially sleep walking or talking. AWAKE. Like it's the middle of the freaking day. He informs me that there is something spooky in his room. As if the vague "spooky" wasn't enough for me, he then offers me a comprehensive, thesaurus-quality list of other words to describe his room: eerie, creepy, shivery, scary, haunted, horrifying.
I do the traditional mom consolation, snuggle for a few minutes and return to my bed.
As I lay down on what I think is my blankie (see yesterday's post), I realize it's Clooney. We are currently trying to train Clooney not to sleep at the head of the bed, but rather at the foot or somewhere in between. He's just too hot and restless to have on my pillow, wrapped around my head like a little hair turban. So, he crept up while I was out. I pick him up, move him down to my knees, and settle back into bed.
Five minutes later, S is moaning again. I decide to ignore, but moaning escalates to the dread, "mah-mie, mah-mie" lilting call. It's worse than being paged at the airport. I go back to his room, offer consolation, pat him in the bed, pull up the covers, and assure him there is nothing spooky or nearly spooky in his bedroom. In fact, I turn on the light to the lowest level and agree to leave it on so that all the bogies will hate the light and run away. I crawl back in to bed. Clooney is on my pillow. Licking himself. Thoroughly.
I move him down to my knees and try to snuggle in. But the licking continues. I reach down and flip him over. The licking resumes. I reach down and push him. Licking pauses, resumes. I try to dislodge him with my foot. The licking stops while he regains his balance, and then continues. For EVER. Finally, after what may have been 3 minutes or an hour, it stops. I am so irritated that I am having trouble going back to sleep, but am drifting...drifting....
Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump
The scratching starts.
By the way, I remembered the word diurnal while I was lying in bed thinking of this morning's post. My brain can actually work at that hour. Freaky.