When I first got Murray Great Dane, I was living the dream. We spent our days hanging out with my three hipster best friends in a cool psychedelically painted micro-bus, catching bad guys. Just kidding; that’s Scooby Doo and Friends.
In reality, after doing extensive research on Great Danes and discovering fun facts like they have nothing to do with Denmark and were originally bred to hunt wild boar, I searched extensively for the perfect specimen. Still kidding! I acquired Murray the Dane from my friend whose Dane got it on with a another Dane while my friend wasn’t looking.
I knew nothing about Great Danes other than my Dad had one when he was young and that Murray was adorable, needed a home, and his parents were beautiful. So I plopped him on my lap and we drove home to introduce him to my three Brittanys.
It wasn’t the safest way to drive and definitely not a good precedent to set. From then on, Murray was a Velcro dog. Soon, (like days later) he couldn’t fit under the steering wheel, but he was always as close as physically possible.
Murray may have been my first Dane, but he was far from my first dog. So the first thing we worked on was potty training. If you use a crate, a dog door, and have a pack of well housebroken dogs, training is a snap. Murray was completely trustworthy by the time he was 10 weeks old.
After that he never had an accident. When he was older, though, he did have a lot of ‘on purposes’ when he was literally pissed at me.
As soon as Murray was safe to roam, he was on my bed at night. Of the four dogs, the only one who refused to sleep with us, was Morgan. She was an old Diva when I adopted her, and she had RULES. One was that ladies absolutely did not sleep on the bed.
Her other unbreakable commandment was that she went to bed at nine pm. That would have been fine, but Morgan also believed she could not retire to her chambers alone. Lady or not, she would bark and carry on until I finally got a tiny television for the bedroom and we’d all join her at nine.
When Murray was small he needed help getting on my queen-sized bed so I’d pick him up. By the time he was grown, he’d established his place directly to the right of my head where he’d remain all night. The Brittanys all tended to wiggle while they slept. They’d begin the night at the bottom of the bed before rolling their way to the top, squished next to Murray and me.
All of them except Oliver felt they had to stay in direct contact with me at all times. In the winter this cut down considerably on my heating bills. It was less desireable in the summer. When it was hot, I’d try to get away from them as I slept. They followed.
Occasionally, the inevitable happened. The first time Murray, by then full-grown and 140 pounds, pushed me to the floor he was so thoroughly offended by the thunk I made when I hit the ground that he barked. When he realized that I had disturbed his beauty rest, he shot me a huffy, injured look.
At the time I thought I was miserable. In hindsight those were the good old days.
Presently I live with three Great Danes and Poppy the Brittany. Poppy, bless her, never stays on the bed at night. She hates being touched when she’s sleeping and has been known to bite the offender. She starts off the night in her crate and then wanders the house. She always ends up by my side of the bed, and more than once I’ve stepped on her tail. Oops.
Dalai the Dane prefers to sleep in her giant crate. Except when she is frightened such as during Santa Ana winds, or if there are fireworks, or when she has a nightmare. Then she hovers over my face breathing loudly until I make room for her on the bed.
Jasper has slept with me since the very day I got him, when he absolutely refused to sleep in his crate. He howled. He cried and screeched as he slammed himself repeatedly into the crate door.
I wouldn’t have cared, but I got him in Kentucky, and we spent his first few nights at my Mom’s place. His vocalizing woke the entire house, so I gave in and put him on the bed. Instantly he curled up next to me, sighed happily and fell asleep. In the morning, he quietly played with his toys until I woke up and took him outside. He had arrived impeccably housebroken. At seven weeks.
Obviously, he still sleeps on the bed.
When I broke Fiona out of the shelter, I tried her in a crate but she was miserable. But she was content to sleep on any one of the floofy dogs beds on the floor. It was great.
I don’t remember why – perhaps I was drunk- but one night I invited Fiona on the bed. From that moment forth she shoved Jasper out of the way and fell asleep on my right shoulder. When she was 87 pounds, it wasn’t that big a deal. But as she got healthier (she’s now a sturdy 154 pounds) it became a problem.
Once Fiona is asleep, she is immobile. She becomes a 154 pound sack of furry cement. Cement that must at all times be touching me, preferably with her head on my neck. Snoring loudly.
Jasper gets into bed last and is continually shocked that Fiona has taken the ‘good’ spot. He gets around this by plopping his butt on her side, and sliding down next to her. It looks like they are spooning. It’s sweet.
Except that they, like Murray, push in their sleep. I begin each night carefully situating myself in the middle of the bed. By 2 or 3 am, they have commendeered the covers and I am hanging onto the mattress by my fingernails.
Moving them is almost impossible, since together they weigh more than 300 pounds. Instead I usually get up and go to the other side of the bed, and try to get back to sleep before they notice I’ve moved.
If you think this is insane, and you are correct. I don’t think that Shaggy has this problem with Scooby Doo.
But he is a cartoon Dane.
Lionsandtigersandbearsetc 