Heavenly Beverley : Overnight Antics @ the Residence in Heavenly Beverley

We have been living in our little "unit" for nearly three months. Finally, earthworks are beginning for our new home this week. We have just spent an uncomfortable half-hour stacking up the last of our felled trees and raking up more litter. Any sensible person would have been up at sparrow fart to complete this job during the cool of the morning. I rest my case.

We have settled into some sort of routine, similar to our rituals previously at the House that Rocks. We are not early risers.

The dogs are generally not early risers either. Except for Sascha. Our ancient Weimaraner has taken to both evening and early morning strolls down the main drag. Or at any other time if she can get away with a quiet walk. Almost fourteen years old (ninety-eight in dog years), she feigns blindness, deafness and senility to avoid responding to our calls. Think Maggie Beard and Sascha is her canine alter ego.

She also enjoys rearranging her bed during each night. Usually on several occasions. A push here. A scrape there. A poke. Then a great deal of circling before she falls with style to the floor. At that point, the entire residence shakes. If she can't get her bed the way she likes it, she locks eyes with me plaintively until I haul my bum out of bed and do a quick shake job with her blanky. Then there are the Baby Elephant Walks that coincide with her nocturnal ablutions. Now Sascha is a lean dog. She is also the most heavy-footed dog in the known universe. Her thunderous entry back up the hallway is unmistakable.

Pip causes us the least amount of trouble as he is very quiet. Do not be fooled by his compliant appearance. Pip's greatest delight is lying squarely in the middle of either Sascha's or Ruby's beds. The wicked glint in his eyes always gives him away. Neither of the bigger dogs is ever successful in moving him along without our assistance. The signal that this situation has occurred is Sascha pacing anxiously up and down the hall or Ruby standing stock still gazing mournfully at her bed. At this point, I usually bellow "PIP! OFF" and the status quo will quickly revert to normality.

What can be done with a dog named Ruby? (apologies to the "Sound of Music") Ruby's life continues in a state of blissful bewilderment. She is quite used to spending her entire day confined to barracks. She continues to attempt escape whenever we let her off in the back block. Her culinary tastes have not improved. The only incidents that cause her any distress whatsoever are the Jack Russell's invasion of the bed or her quite frantic eagerness to obtain her morning treat.

At a suitable hour, or when she detects our movement at the station, she begins an operatic performance that would rival any soprano. She out wails those who wail at the Wailing Wall. As her howls of anguish rise in volume, she then begins a daily routine, excavation of the stud wall between herself and our heads in bed. Think of the "Shawshank Redemption" and a rock pick and you get the picture.

Upon release, she joyfully hurtles (yes Ruby can hurtle) into the confines of our tiny kitchenette and prays to her God, the pigs' ears container. Her ecstasy on receiving one almost causes her to explode with excitement. Turning her back on us, she launches down the hallway, takes a flight to land in the comfort of her dog bed to consume her adored titbit. We are thinking of entering her in the hop, step and jump - or in her case, the leap, lunge and land.

Then there is Madame Cat. She has become a "townie" with ease. She has also become far more vocal as she ages. She treats the unit as her own personal hotel, She lets us know her displeasure immediately if some aspect of her life is not to her liking. I need more biscuit! I want a cuddle! I must have a brush! Pull up the sheet on the bed so I may position myself! Amazing how one small cat has so much language.

The final member of our entourage, the Pirate Parrot carries on. He generally has more close company during the day and occasionally emits a piercing whistle to make sure we are awake. He is still rude and annoyingly messy. Except when John, our builder, came to visit. Talk about a Bird Whisperer. Red was putty in his hands. If he'd been a chicken, I would have expected Red to lie uncomplainingly on his back. Extraordinary.

And so, like sand in the hourglass, the Days (and Nights) of our Lives continue. Often hilariously, always surprisingly and never boringly. Our family continues to delight, annoy and entertain us. Not to mention leave us sleep deprived.

That's what nanna naps fix.