The Morning of the Dog

December 2, 2008
A cold, wet nose presses against my hand
No, I sigh and flip over to face the wall
The smell of garbage and Kibbles and Bits wafts into my nose
Go away
My eyes pop open to the sight of a rubber bone
With more slobber than should be possible for one dog to produce
Its dropped lovingly on my face
I get up despite the sounds of my dreams calling me back
A set of tails wag back and forth in a mechanical rhythm
Eyes stare longingly into mine
Hopeful paws pitter patter on the floor
A glance at the clock tells me its 7 AM
On a Saturday
My dogs better love me
The three of us race down the stairs
With a flip of the latch, we’re out the door
Two wriggling bodies erupt from the opening
All that’s visible is a brown blur mixed with black and white
I plop down on the front step to observe
One loop through the neighbor’s yard
Then two and three follow
Finally they return to me
I get to be keeper of the door
Having pose-able thumbs helps me keep the job
They settle down for a nap
I climb back to my bed
Knowing that in
An hour and a half
It’ll be time to do it all over again

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