It’s my alarm clock talking to me. Her name is Scarlett. Yes, my alarm clock has a name.
I try to hit the snooze button, knowing that this feature hasn’t worked in years.
“Not yet, Scarlett.”
I slowly open one eye to scope out the landscape.
The digital clock on my nightstand reads 5:45. Scarlett is sitting in the hallway and the other dogs are still sleeping. The room is no longer pitch black, but the sun is not fully risen yet. I close my eyes again.
“Harow, Harow, Harow.”
Scarlett’s more frequent pleading with me to wake up coupled with my second “not yet” awakens the other dogs as I hear them beginning to stir and stretch.
Shoot. Kaya is awake now.
My eyes are still closed. Any sudden movement and I’ve got no chance of sleeping in. I make the mistake of rolling over.
Kaya launches herself from the floor onto our king bed and lands between Cathy and me, disturbing the cat. Disco is less agile and needs an ottoman to reach the bed. He climbs up and plops down on my chest, effectively pinning me under the covers. He begins licking my face. I can offer no defense.
“Disco, stop. Oh my gosh. Get off me! Your elbows are digging into my bladder. Get off.”
“Yes, I know you have to pee, Scarlett. Hang on a second.”
“Kaya, be careful! Watch out for the kitty.” She gets swatted on the nose by Wakefield, our very sleepy and grumpy cat.
“Brandy. Don’t you dare chew that up. Can you please give me my slipper back? Ugh, I really gotta pee. Brandy drop it.”
I retrieve my slipper and finally get to use the bathroom.
On the other side of the door, I hear Disco and Kaya wrestling. Yes, I know the specific sounds of just those two wrestling. As I leave the bathroom, they look at me with innocent expressions.
“All right, let’s go outside everyone.”
They sprint down the hall, down the stairs, back up the stairs, and get behind me.
I hold onto the stair railing, otherwise I’m going down like a Slinky.
Through the kitchen. As I begin to pull open the door leading to the porch, Brandy jumps up and slaps her front paws on the door. It slams shut with a thunderous boom.
“Oh, good grief. Wait a MINUTE! Let me get the door open.“
They sprint onto the porch and apparently I’m too slow. Scarlett performs the same maneuver as her mother, Brandy, on the lightweight aluminum storm door. Her paws strategically hit the handle and the door pops open. Each dog jumps off the top of the stairs (there are only three) and artistically stretches their front and rear legs, like they are being judged in the Olympics. They “fly” until they land squarely on all four limbs. No sooner do their legs hit the ground and they are in a full sprint towards the end of the yard to wake up, Rusty, the neighbor’s dog.
The dogs do their business and I bring them back inside to feed them. With bellies full and bladders empty, the dogs are content. They go to sleep on the living room floor.
Me, on the other hand. I’m now wide awake.
I sure do wish dogs understood the concept of weekends.
Welcome to my Saturdays and Sundays, and Mondays, well you get the idea.
time to wake up and have a great day :)
Be Kind. Be Thankful. Be Significant.