Each morning when she barks at 5 a.m., I wonder there all of those dog lovers are in the house? They are so silent… not a soul moves even a toe.
It’s been cold outside in the morning… As I walk down the stairs in the dark, I try to remember where I hid my shoes from her, and if her leash is where I left it by the crate, and I fear the cold. I dread the cold. And I wonder, will she let me just put her back to sleep after her potty break? I hope so. I don’t have the energy yet for those bouncing ears to come tearing into the kitchen looking for food.
Then, I make it downstairs, and I find her, standing up in her crate, whinning, whimpering, and she knows its me. It’s always me at this time of the morning.
Is it grace that keeps the air from feeling less cold than I imagined it would be. Because it is.
Soon, she is running through the kitchen, ears up and perky. She wants her breakfast.
I scoop it out for her. She eats so fast. I scoop her up in my arms, and hold her tight, — for this she doesn’t dare try to bite — as I walk her back to her crate, and whisper to her… it’s time to go back to sleep.