Beans the Midnight Haunter: Polite, Silent, and Treat-Motivated
You wake up feeling watched… and there he is. Waiting. Judging. Patient.
No growling. No movement. Just the quiet confidence of a dog who knows resistance is pointless.
The second a treat is handed over, the spell breaks. The creepy grin vanishes, replaced by his normal sweet face and wagging tail—like, “What? Me? I’ve been adorable this whole time.”
Beans doesn’t beg.
He haunts politely until paid
The first time it happened, I genuinely questioned my sanity. I opened my eyes in the dark, convinced something had shifted in the room. There was no sound—no tag jingling, no paws clicking on the floor. Just a feeling. That unmistakable sense of being observed. I slowly turned my head toward the doorway and there he was: perfectly framed by the hall light, sitting upright like a tiny, fluffy gargoyle. The smile—oh, the smile—fully displayed. Not aggressive. Not playful. Just… deliberate. His little Foxie ears stood alert, his body completely motionless, as if he had rehearsed this. I whispered his name. Nothing. No tail wag. No blink. Just unwavering eye contact. The message was clear: you know why I’m here. He doesn’t whine. He doesn’t scratch. He doesn’t escalate. He simply waits with the patience of a creature who understands that sleep deprivation will eventually win the negotiation in his favor. And it always does.
What makes it even funnier is the transformation. The moment I shuffle to the kitchen and retrieve the sacred nighttime offering, he springs back into being a normal, cheerful dog. The eerie statue dissolves into bouncy excitement. His tail whirs like a tiny helicopter, and he prances back to bed as if nothing supernatural just occurred. If I hesitate—just once—he’ll reappear the following night a few minutes earlier, adjusting his schedule like a professional strategist. I’ve tried pretending not to see him. I’ve tried rolling over dramatically. It changes nothing. Beans has the discipline of a monk and the timing of a horror director. Yet somehow, it’s impossible to be mad. There’s something deeply impressive about a dog who has mastered silent persistence. He doesn’t beg loudly. He doesn’t demand. He manifests. And honestly? There are worse ways to wake up than to a tiny, grinning Foxie conducting polite psychological warfare for a snack.
