The Morning of the Dog

December 2, 2008
By Teri Cadeau, Gilbert, MN

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

The author's comments:
We all know the feeling. You wake up early and look at the clock, grunt and turn back over for more sleep, but something will alwalys bring you out of that glorious sleep. So you get up. I get up for my dogs. What do you wake up for?

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