Bette the Biter

There she is, coiled on the pillow, waiting to strike the first hand that dares to try and move her. It's Bette the Biter. Sitting in the living room I'll hear the squeal of Mark cursing her. In the middle of the night, in the darkness of our bedroom I'll be startled awake by Mark's curses. It's Bette the Biter, and Mark can't seem to avoid the razor sharp teeth of that ten pound terror. I don't know what it is between those two. I've tried to explain to Mark on how to approach a sleeping dog, how to let her know that you are coming and that she is going to have to move. For some reason it isn't working for Mark. Usually in the evening, before he retires, Mark has to request that I move Bette off of his pillow. Of course there is that old saying "Let sleeping dogs lie." Sure, you can let them lie there on your pillow, but then it wouldn't be your pillow. So that saying doesn't apply. Bette doesn't bite me, which makes me believe she has heard a different old saying, "Don't bite the hand that feeds you." I learned how to move a sleeping dog from Chandler. He's eighty pounds, has very sharp, huge teeth, and once I tried to move him while he was sleeping. He said no. So I learned that you have to talk to them, you have to tell them that you are coming. Once I awaken him, Chandler will move on his own. As for Bette, after I talk to her a bit and scratch her head, I can pick her up and move her. I'm not sure what Mark is doing wrong. Maybe it's the way he announces loudly "I'm coming in Bette. Don't be surprised."