Waking Up

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It starts with a Miller meow.

A few minutes before an alarm that I never get to hear ring.

I grab the phone and check the wordle game. It’s a good way to start things, with a mental challenge.

Then I check the news of the day, text chat a minute with Pops, and get ready for the day.

The problem being that these days that first step out of the house, after leaving the dogs out, and heading to start the car…

…is so damn bitter!

“Son-of-a-bitch!” Is the usual first utterance of the day. Followed quickly by, “This sucks!”

Coffee is next on the agenda. I give Miller a little milk as he does a little religious dance, barely touching it.

Dogs come in, Paris goes for a ride, Ollie goes into the pen and they each get a bone.

A ritual.

And why it is funny is because all four of us are dance partners for the morning waltz. My two dogs and one cat knowing each and every movement.

They are the only partners that I have in the routine of things. 

My wife and children are not very good at the routine, and that goes for every part of it.

Which drives me crazy.

I have the day plotted out from step 1 through step 25.

I’ll send a text:

“What do you have today? Who is home for dinner?”

“Nothing, and everyone.”

Hours later, I return home with dinner for four and the drive is empty.

“Where are you?”

“Doctors.”

“Thought you were free all day.”

“Yeah. I forgot.”

“Where are the boys? I have dinner.”

“They aren’t home for dinner.”

Bah!

And thankfully, the pets greet me, and we begin the afternoon ritual of writing reports.

They wait patiently, each of them coming by, one-by-one, to tell me about their day.

It’s off to bed at close to the exact same time every night…

…then we wake up and do it all again.

In the bitter cold.

Son-of-a-bitch!

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