I have lost all control over my mornings due to these dogs. Every morning is the same.
Dog #2 kicks it off with an Oscar-worthy performance of passive/aggression. "Don't let me wake you," he seems to say through loud, nasal exhalations and vigorous ear-shakes. I find myself fantasizing about having easy access to a tranquilizer gun by the bed.
He keeps up the performance until I get up. Like this:
We go downstairs, emancipate Dog #1 from her crate. Dog #2 has not yet accepted a crated existence. I know: this is all my fault.
We head outside to our tiny yard, for ablutions. I don't even care. I am in my pajamas in clear view of the ample street and automobile traffic of Sheridan Road.
So I have to wander out into the dewy, peeful yard to pick her up and bring her back into the house.
Once inside, it's time to feed them. While they tear through their food like they haven't eaten in years, I am now free to sit down with my morning Coke Zero and have a little time to check out social media and have a general blogaround.
This lasts for about 13 seconds because Dog #2 has a digestive system that operates at Mach 3 and now he has to poop. Have I mentioned this is how it goes every morning?
So back outside we go where Dog #2 immediately poops, which I then pick up and throw away, failing to have noticed that Dog #1 has sneaked outside and is once again ignoring me while smelling every goddamn smell there is to smell.
Back out, still in pajamas, through the dewy, peeful yard to bring her back inside. This brings us to now, as I sit on the couch writing this while the other two humans who live here and both the damn dogs are sleeping.
I still love all of them. Dogs and human a lot.