Meet Clyde

What do you do with a two-hundred thirty pound gorilla that's in your bed? Well I tell him "Good night Brad, I love you". It's no secret that I am a lousy sleeper, and the bigger I get the worse I am at going to or staying asleep. I laid awake half the night last night listening to Clyde, he's the two hundred and thirty pound gorilla that was in my bed.
Who is this Clyde? Well he is a creature who defies normal primate biology by having a sustained body temperature of one hundred and eighty-nine degrees. No, surely a living thing can not run at such a high temperature you say. Well, Clyde has a very unique heat exhaust system that keeps his temperature from getting high enough to hurt his internal organs. Unfortunately that exhaust system is neither quiet nor fragrant. He blows high pressure gas from his rear about every ten minutes. An efficient system no doubt, but not quite up to EPA toxic fumes release standards.
Clyde is a loving creature, who like most male primates wishes to seek out and claim territory. I see the middle point in our bed's headboard as a line drawn between countries. No there's no fence, but admission to a foreign place must be granted by the governing body. The land of hormonal baby makers is having a problem with rising temperatures, and it's resident is trying all she can to remain cool. Here comes Clyde (did I mention he's a sleep loaper?) over the border to try to let off some of his heat in a country not his own. Now when not in fully fertile mode the western dwellers of the hormonal land would welcome an invasion of a larger, warmer, protective presence. But now while the occupancy is at it's double rate already, adding the big hot and hairy gorilla is a problem. Clyde favors nocturnal roaming, he's an amazing multitasker, he sleeps and overtakes all at the same time.
Being that I am concentrating on keeping my sublet tenant happy, I try to accommodate Clyde and sleep anyway, silly me. Once Clyde has his big arms and legs strewn all over my property he begins his concert of nose whistling, grunts, snores, and the piece d' resistance- the tounge swallowing gag to be ended by choking and spitting. Oh how did I luck up and get a front row seat to such a melodic night serenade?
Clyde is a strange creature by design, when awake he hears like others in the large ape family. But once asleep his ears withdraw into his skull. This is probably a genetic evolutions to ensure that his species is well rested and can continue procreating. I can not talk to Clyde. I can not rouse him to discuss fair land distribution. His own little baby monkey's cries don't wake the giant, slumbering beast. I thought for sure that if I nudged him, Clyde would get up to aid the younger of his troupe, I was wrong. There are benefits to the soundness with which he sleeps. If I wish to hear his throat concerto in a different pitch or key I can simply grab the fur atop his head and ratchet his head in any direction. This is not a maneuver for the novice. You must be experienced in primate relations and ready to abort the mission and play dead/asleep should one of the beast's eyes open. But the adjustment can be made with the right amount of caution. Likewise if the nose whistling is not to my liking I have, out of desperation, clamped the air intake. This forces Clyde's backup system to open an alternate air intake route, his mouth.
Much like Pavlov's dogs Clyde is conditioned to get up for only two things- the alarm, and the question "What was that?". The alarm is quite simple, it sounds, Clyde leaps to full attention, scratches himself, mumbles, and leaves the battle torn bed. The question is from long ago imprinted lessons. For safety reasons Clyde is duty bound to protect his troupe. He is the largest and the the dominate male, so it is part of his job. If I utter the secret phrase Clyde leaps stealthily from the bed. He then surveys all of his domain, stalks his territory to show any intruder who owns this place. When the threat has been ruled out, Clyde then scratches, urinates (to reinforce ownership of his territory), and goes back to his bed(both sides of it).
For all the downfalls of sharing a bed with a giant gorilla there are many benefits. He can be sweet, he will eat from your hand, or at least from your kitchen. The fur on his chest is so soft, nuzzling in it is a real treat. I feel safer next to Clyde than I would under protection by federal agents. Clyde is an excellent father. His first born, a male, is already house broken and quite entertaining to watch frolic. Clyde is almost house broken and I have hopes of completing the training soon. What ever Clyde accumulates during a day hard at work in the jungle he shares lovingly with me. As we all know, giant primates lack the muscles that make it easy for us humans to smile with ease. But Clyde, incredible creature that he is, can muster a smile from time to time. When he does flash his teeth, though brief, the sight is stunning. I suppose this means that the battle of the bed will rage on. Clyde and I will tumble and toss, but what could be more fun than a roll in the sheets with a wild animal?