Minky Time is Bed Time

You know 10 PM is called Minky Time around here. That's the time we all go to "the Down." (The house is upside down, with the living room upstairs and the bedrooms downstairs)

Mom hates it because she says, "In New York, I used to be getting dressed in tiny silk dresses to go OUT at this hour! Now, I'm putting on flannel pyjamas and going to bed. This truly sucks."
I know she doesn't mean it though. She loves going to get cozy with us in the Down, MUCH more than going to Discos and bars.

Every night, we run through the routine to go to the Down. Here are the complicated steps for our nightly trip to the Down:

Someone has to take us out into the street, where Finley will plant herself in one spot and sniff one leaf for about an hour. I cannot poop out there, there isn't enough leaf coverage. I wait until we reach the Down, because I have a special spot down in the ivy at the bottom of the steep hill, behind the house, below the Down.

When Finn has decided to re-mark the area in front of the house, Mom or Dad has to fill up a glass of filtered water to bring to bed so that the parched people don't ever have to make an extra move during the night. It would be terrible if one of them actually had to get out of bed once they are in it for the night. The person who is bringing down the water has to turn out all the lights upstairs and close all the doors, making sure the Stupid Kitty isn't locked outside on the balcony (she was locked out one night last summer and she got really mad).

Then the obese Finn must be carried down the stairs because she refuses to walk down on her own unless a piece of chicken has been thrown down in front of her. So the giant hairy hippo queen is carried down and placed on the bed.

Then the people brush their teeth with their loud vibrating tooth cleaning machines. I don't understand why they can't just chew on a bone or something. Toothpaste tastes nothing like beef fat. Maybe if they made a bone marrow toothpaste I could understand it, but...

Dad makes a big mess around his sink, spraying watery toothpaste all over the place. The mirror in front of his sink is covered in shaving cream and dried up bits of toothpaste. Mom's side is neat and clean--and she has a complicated routine of applying different potions and creams in a particular order, all to make her face stretchy like a rubber band.

Dad gets his flashlight and we go outside, down the back, past the pool and below the deck like brave men in the dark. This is very exciting because a coyote could sneak up on me, mid-poop and attack me. But Dad and I are together and we have so far always evaded the enemy.

After that, Mom and Dad fight over the10X magnifying mirror so they can see the details of the porous landscape of their faces. I don't know what it is they're looking for in that damned mirror but whatever it is, they haven't found it because they go on an open pore safari every night while I wait on the landing of the tub.

Then comes the most delicious time of the evening, when I get my "brushing." I have my own special brush, a round hair-drying brush that feels like thousands of tiny bristles massaging me into a morphine high. I sit up and roll my eyes into the back of my head while Mom gives me my brushing.

Finn likes to get the brushing too and she shimmies up the bed the get her rump brushed.

The most delicious moments of Minky Time are at the end of it, when we curl up, bellies full, post-brushing and get into our spots. Finley likes the end of the bed and I like to make a trench between Mom and Dad, on top of the comforter and get ready to dream of chasing rats through endless fields of fresh grass.