To understand how crazy last Friday morning was for me, first you have to get a general sense for how mornings are supposed to run in our household.
Somewhere between 5-7:30am my wife gets up. I am blissfully unconscious for this part, so I really have no idea about the fluctuations in her wake up schedule. At the sound of my wife's alarm, our two pitbulls, Grover and Falcor, reactively begin there morning stretches as they half-heartedly rise from their doggie beds.
It's winter, so the dogs are weighing the fact that Mom is going to make them go outside into the cold to go to the bathroom with the reward of getting a pre-breakfast snack before going back to bed. The knowledge of future food is one of the most powerful motivators in our household, though on those subfreezing mornings, even the sound of a bag of treats shaking from downstairs can't budge Grover out from under his cozy blanket.
Dogs go out, dogs get a snack, and then dogs are put back in their bed(s) so Momma can get ready for school. They immediately jump up on the human bed and snuggle with me. If all goes to plan, when my alarm goes off, I know all is right in the world if I feel the warm-water bottle sensation of fuzzy companions wedged against some part of my body. Sometimes the pups get real creative and lie directly against either side of me, and when I go to shut off my alarm, I find myself pinned in like a mummy under the coffin lid of compressed sheets.
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| "Dad, just toss a blanket over us and we'll call it a night." |
