My morning routine is always the same. The dogs want out by
8am. We have been in the bedroom since the night before, a small dog gate
blocking the way so a stray pooch cannot stroll to the kitchen and pee. My feet
hit the floor and three dogs dash to the gate, tails wagging, bodies wiggling, ready to run down the hallway to the back door. April in Paris and Bray bark with their loud irritating voices, letting me know
they want biscuits as well as a chance to do their business. Chloe dances in
circles, her leopard print dress with the red ruffles twirling around her tail.
It is bedlam. They are excited because I've called out, in my sweetest morning voice, “Let’s go pee pee.” It
sounds like a treat about to happen. Three dogs rush to the back door where I
quickly open it and slam it behind them. April always tries to turn and come back in. A smart girl, she knows I've lied about food. Bray and Chloe know what to do and go do it.
Two dogs still lie
in bed. (It is sleeping dogs lie, right?). Rascal has to ease out of bed. She
is not a morning gal, kind of like me. She stretches her fat roly poly body,
white with black polka dots splattered over her pink belly, and begs for a rub.
Only then, after she has had her way with my hand, will she sit up, head to the
foot of the bed, jump to the needlepoint bench, and run to the back door.
Rascal is the butterball dog, round and overweight at 40 pounds. Her front legs
splay out like a ballerina doing a plie. One blue eye and one brown eye stare at
you as if to put you under her spell. An adorable tomboy, she knows how to work
it. I open the door, she races out to the back yard, way beyond the others now
milling about by the patio. Once again, I slam the green Victorian door and
head back to the bedroom.
Bertha sits
staring from the floor. A big girl, chunky at 75 pounds. Her long face begs to
be kissed, but she sometimes snaps, so kisses wait. Bertha is my low-rider. A
Bassett and goodness knows what mix. She doesn’t have Betty Davis eyes, but my
bet is a little pitty had his way with her mother. If she is not happy her eyes
express the power behind her jaw. She is a good girl, but as I feel about all
dogs, don’t take it for granted they will always do the right thing. I tap my
foot, letting her know I am Alpha. She perks up, that tan and white body and
thick paws, gallop to the back door. Kerplunk. She has a heavy step. Her look tells me I am ready. The door opened, Bertha takes her time, easing down
the three brick steps to the patio. Wham.
I slam the door shut. Five faces eagerly watch me. Where is breakfast? I know they are thinking it. Where is my coffee?
I definitely need my blast of caffeine.
Instant coffee.
For a coffee addict I am the laziest gal around. Folger’s Instant. Quite tasty.
I fill my lovely white Ironstone cup with tap water, place it in the microwave,
hit beverage, and within a minute I have the hot water needed. A large scoop of
crystalized coffee (about a big teaspoon full) drops into the hot water, and on
days I feel adventurous, I sprinkle dry Hazelnut creamer into the mixture. Cup
in hand I head to the computer.
As a writer, I
have become lazy. Where are the days of sitting up until 3am sipping port,
writing away until I can’t think anymore? I don’t have a designated time to
write. I wing it. Mornings find me on Facebook, Pinterest, back to Facebook,
then letting the dogs in and feeding them. All followed by a quick nap back in
my bed, surrounded by five dogs, unless I have to be somewhere early in the
day.
I’ve decided that
someplace to be is here. At my computer. Drinking my coffee. Sharing random
thoughts that I don’t write about any place else. Nothing heavy, no politics,
just the simple things that fill me with joy, promises I make myself, and maybe
a little bit of the blues, either in decorating or mood. Short, long, picture
only, who knows what my morning thought will be. This is a blog for myself, but
if you find it and decided you like it, well come join me. It’s nice to share
coffee with a friend.
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