I love working dogs, and I have three – a border collie, yellow lab, and Boston Terrier.

The border collie loves to chase but not trouble the sheep; the Lab is a therapy dog who retrieves things, the Boston Terrier is a ratter and mouser, precious on a farm.

My wife – a/k/a the Nurse Ratched of Bedlam Farm – has given them a new task. Getting me out of bed in time to help with the mid-winter chores.

After my accident on Friday, I got a two-day pass from any hard or physical work. Maria is incredibly sweet and nurturing, and supportive when there is trouble, but it’s only good for two or three days.

Then her Calvinist streak emerges – (she throws the cats out of their winter basement retreat regularly, announcing loudly, “it’s time to get up and get some sun. Otherwise you’ll turn into vampire cats.!”)

I admit to luxuriating in bed in the morning for a bit; it is frigid out there. I even tried telling her old men with heart conditions should be wary of sub-zero cold, this did not fly. Besides, I said, I’m still traumatized by accident.

That didn’t fly either.

She was delighted with herself when she came up with the idea of siccing the dogs on me, “oh,” she said coyly as I was driven from my bed, “I thought it would be nice for them to greet you in the morning.” The evil look in her eyes gave her away.

Lying in bed this morning, I heard the dogs thundering up the stairs to the bedroom door. I hopped out of bed, grabbed the Iphone, and they tore into the room, leaping into my bed, a bit confused by the fact that I wasn’t in it.

Zinnia thought I was hiding under the quilt again, and she burrowed under it, sniffing for me. As usual, Fate knew exactly where I was and what I was doing. Bud, who avoided all conflict, just sat down and waited for someone to scratch his head, which I did.

“You are all traitors,” I said, “selling me out for a cheap thrill!”

Working dogs love to work, of course, and what could be more fun than chasing me out of bed in the morning? It’s just as good as sheep, ducks, or mice.

They seemed disappointed to find me standing up and pointing a camera at them, but I rallied them yelling, “let’s go to work, guys,” and they all leaped off the bed and rushed downstairs, and headed for the front door.

They indeed betrayed me for Nurse Ratched. But the sad truth is that much of the time; it’s the work that working dogs love, not the human who tells them to do it.