You're Killin' Me, Wilbur

     Last night I couldn't get to sleep.  Wilbur was snoring.  Simon was downstairs in his office, working until late, and so was not on hand to hear the Cuisinart juicer in Wilbur's sinuses.
   Sometimes Wilbur will snore deeply for a few breaths, and then suddenly his fleshy adenoids shift, and his breathing turns quiet.  Other times he snores, with varying bass, for a half hour or more.  At those times there's no rest for me.  It's like trying to sleep next to a submerged Jetski.
     "Wilbur!" I hissed last night.  Instantly he was silent.  I pictured him lifting his head swiftly in the dark, holding his breath, eyebrows raised, ears slightly cocked.  Suddenly alert.  Yes, Mom? Do you need me to go out front and protect you from the squirrels?  Do you want me to make sure the baby is alright?  You're not still mad about that roll of toilet paper I ate, are you?
     "Stop snoring!" and I snapped my fingers to show I meant business.  Yes, he seemed to say, I agree that squirrels are a terrible nuisance.  I'm glad you woke me to tell me that, and I like that finger-snap thing.  It's exactly how I feel, too, about those squirrels.
      There was a shuffling sound, and I knew he had put his head back down on his paws.  After a moment a slightly more orchestral snore emerged from the dark.  Something like a bassoon section.
     I jumped out of bed and grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into the hall outside our bedroom.  Then I tossed his bed--my velour body pillow--out into the hall after him.  I heard a "hurrumph" as he settled, unperturbed, next to the wall.
     About fifteen minutes later, Simon came upstairs to bed.  I heard the jingle of Wilbur's collar as he let him in the room.
     "Don't you dare let him in!" I said.
     "He's not going to sleep out there," Simon said.  He was right.  Wilbur let us get comfortable and then started scratching on the door.  We let him in because we were afraid he would start baying and wake the baby.
     Simon settled back into bed with equanimity; it turns out he is not bothered by snoring at all.
     Today he told me: "Just think of it like the sound of a waterfall."