It starts with a sound.

It’s 3 AM. The house is pitch black. You are warm under the covers, finally drifting into the deep sleep you desperately need.

Then you hear it.

Click. Click. Click.

It’s the rhythm of nails on the hallway floor. Pacing. Restless.

You wait, hoping he will settle. You hold your breath. But the sound continues. Click. Click. Pause. Click.

You aren’t angry, exactly. You love him. But your eyes burn with exhaustion. Your chest feels tight with worry. Why won’t he sleep? Why is he wandering the house like a stranger?

If you are reading this with gritty eyes and a heavy heart, take a deep breath. You aren’t alone on the night shift.

When the Sun Goes Down

There is a name for this. It’s often called “Sundowning.” It sounds poetic, but it feels chaotic.

Think of your dog’s body like an old grandfather clock. For years, the gears turned perfectly. The sun came up, he woke up. The sun went down, he slept. But as our dogs age, that internal clock gets rusty. It slips a gear. It loses time.

When the evening comes, the signals in his brain get scrambled. The darkness isn’t just dark anymore; it’s disorienting. The shadows in the corner look wrong. The path to the water bowl feels like a maze.

He isn’t being “bad.” He isn’t trying to keep you awake on purpose. He is simply lost in his own home.

The Weight of the Night

I want to pause here for a moment. Not for the dog, but for you.

Sleep deprivation is torture. It really is. It is hard to be the “good owner” when you haven’t slept more than four hours in a row for a week.

You might feel a flash of frustration when you hear those nails clicking. You might think, Just go to sleep! Then, immediately after, the guilt hits you. You feel terrible for being annoyed at an old dog who can’t help it.

Let go of that guilt. It is normal to be tired. It is normal to be frustrated.

But here is the truth: Your frustration feeds his anxiety. He can smell it. He can feel the tension radiating off you when you stomp down the hallway.

He needs an anchor. The world feels slippery and confusing to him right now. You are the only thing that holds steady. You have to be the calm in his storm. Even at 3 AM. Especially at 3 AM.

Being the Lighthouse

So, how do we handle the night shift? We can’t fix his internal clock overnight. But we can make the nights less scary. We can be the lighthouse.

Brooke’s Toolkit: Light Up the Runway

Old eyes don’t adjust to the dark like they used to. A dark hallway isn’t just dark; it’s a void. It’s scary to step into.

The Fix: Buy nightlights. Lots of them.

  • Plug them in along the hallway.
  • Put one near the water bowl.
  • Put one near his bed.

When he wakes up confused, the soft glow gives him instant information. Oh. There is the wall. There is the door. I know where I am.

Shadows are the enemy of the senior dog. Shadows look like holes in the floor or strange animals. Light banishes the shadows. It is a simple fix, but it changes everything.

Boring is Beautiful

Anxiety thrives on unpredictability. Comfort thrives on routine. You want your evenings to be painfully boring.

Do the exact same things in the exact same order:

  • Feed him at 5:00.
  • Potty at 8:00.
  • A specific, calm treat at 9:00.
  • Turn the TV volume down an hour before bed.

Signal to his brain that the day is winding down. Create a ritual that says, “We are safe. We are done for the day.”

The Gentle Reset

Here is the scenario. It is the middle of the night. He is stuck in a loop. He walks from the bedroom to the living room. Turns around. Walks back.

You are lying in bed, tense. You might be tempted to call out his name. “Buddy, go to bed!”

Don’t do it.

Shouting from the dark just adds noise to his confusion. He hears your voice, but he can’t see you. Now he is confused and looking for the source of the sound.

You have to get up. I know. The bed is warm. The floor is cold. But you have to break the loop.

1. Walk to him. Move slowly.
2. Don’t grab his collar. That can startle him.
3. Place a gentle hand on his side. Stroke his fur calmly.
4. Guide him physically. Gently steer his body back toward his bed.

This is the “Reset.” You are physically interrupting the confusion loop in his brain. Sometimes, I will sit on the floor next to the dog bed for a few minutes. I will keep one hand on him until his breathing slows down. Until he remembers how to rest.

This is Just a Season

I know you are tired. I know you miss sleeping through the night.

But look at him. Look at that gray muzzle resting on his paws. Look at the way he sighs when he finally feels safe enough to close his eyes.

He has spent his whole life watching over you. He barked at the mailman to keep you safe. He waited by the door for you to come home.

Now, it is your turn to watch over him.

This phase won’t last forever. It is a hard season, but it is a season.