Don't Tell Bob
Prednisone can cause insomnia.
Luckily for me, I have a dog. Dogs are great for insomniacs--well, some of them are. Shelly just sleeps, but Smith is an old lady and like a lot of old folks, she sleeps lightly and wakes up often. She also likes company. Last night at around 2:00 in the morning I went downstairs thinking that a beer might relax me and help me sleep. I'm not a big beer drinker. So when we buy beer, say for a party, we have it for awhile. I think last night's beer was from New Years Eve. It's a brand of beer called Blue Moon (recommended by Adam, who doesn't really drink much beer, either, but who knows a lot of people who take beer much more seriously than either he or I.)
I sat down with Smith on the wooden floor. (She has arthritis in her hips, so a lot of the night is spent trying to decide which is more important--the cool but hard wooden floor or the soft but too warm couch.) I poured a little Blue Moon in the palm of my hand and she lapped it up. The she lapped where a few drops had spilled on the comforter I was sitting on. So I got her food bowl and poured a little in her food bowl and drank some myself. I told her all sorts of nonsense things. She pushed her nose into my hand and begged to be petted and looked hopefully at the beer bottle. I poured her some more. It was dark and nice and we were happy sharing our bottle of beer. "Don't tell Bob," I said and she gave me a beery kiss. I anthropomorphize her. She caninomorphizes me. I think I probably gave her about half a cup, total.
I know she's not legal yet--she's only twelve. But she's way legal in dog years. And she really really likes beer. I had no idea. Probably, neither did she.
I went up to bed after that and did fall asleep. I hope she did, too.