Just when you snuggle back under the covers, that point perhaps an hour before you
have to want to get up, there’s a furry paw followed by a nose that pokes the covers.
“Go away, Comet. Go Sleepie!”
That was good for a minute. My wife and I snuggle closer. Just as her breathing suggests she is asleep, and I am going into my “happy place”, the paw pokes again.
I got up. The clock in the wall thermostat tells me it’s ten to 6 in the morning. “Ahhhhhhh”. The furry alarm clock is correct.
But it’s Friday. The sooner up, the sooner my day is going, over, and the weekend starts. I blame the early mornings on our shifting routine in the last week. Up early because I went to bed very early one day, then a late night followed by an early morning – to beat the traffic. And then the other day, the missus was out the door at o-dark zero, driving to LA for a meeting. The dogs only got fourteen hours or so of sleep that day. We all suffered.
In the meantime, coffee’s on. And of course, on the way back from the kitchen (I always have company going to the kitchen) both Dexter and Comet are eyeballing the hall closet door where their leashes are calling.