I opened one eye. Just a little. Snow, definitely snow. Falling on my house. My trees. My deck.
“It’s not fair,” I think to myself. “We have to go into Boston tonight. Not snow. No, no, no, NO!” I’ve still got “Can’t Buy Me Love” stuck in my head.
I consider just staying there, under the covers. But my head hurts . Coffee thoughts are milling around. That and the realization that the dogs would need encouragement to actually go outside. They seem to think if the weather is bad, they should be allowed to stay in. Use the floor.
Do we, their humans, go out to the yard to do our business? So how come they have to, huh? Pointing out they are dogs and we are not doesn’t carry any weight with them. They look at me, and I can see little thought balloons: “And your point is?” they are thinking.
I struggle into some P J pants and a sweat shirt. Usually I get dressed before I leave the bedroom. Maybe not fancy, but real clothing, more or less. Hair combed, face washed, teeth brushed. My “face the world” look … but we have a concert this evening and I’m going to have to get properly dressed later. Twice in a day is once too many.
In the kitchen, the platoon of furry faces is waiting. Panting with eagerness. I explain, again, the whole going out thing and like a pack of clowns in the circus, they race, hop, and limp down the stairs. They all try to go out the doggy door at the same time. Lots of scrabbling of paws on the floor. Bunch of clowns.
“One at a time!” I yell, but they ignore me and continue to fight their way out. My headache is getting worse. I click the coffee to “on” and wait. I hear the thunder of paws as all four dogs charge back up the stairs.
“You didn’t DO anything out there,” I reprove them. They only stayed out an eighth of a second. They didn’t have time to do anything. Nonetheless, I give them each a greenie, and they go to their separate places to furtively consume, lest some other dog steal a crumb. I haven’t had a chance to reconnoiter before they are back.
“You haven’t finished chewing yet,” I point out, but it doesn’t matter. One biscuit is not enough. They need another (and another and another) and I give them another one and wish the coffee would brew faster because I’m going to crumple to the kitchen floor and just lay there moaning.
And finally. Enough coffee to put into the cup. We use big cups. With covers. So we don’t wind up with our coffee in our keyboards. Usually I am polite and wait for the coffee to finish brewing before I take some, but this morning, I want it and I want it right now. If Garry wants first crack at the coffee, he can get up earlier.
I know he’s awake, really. I saw his eye open. He was looking at the clock, calculating if he could get another couple of hours of sleep. 10:15 is right on the cusp of “get up or roll over.” It can go either way. I hear him moving around the bedroom, so clearly getting up won.
I got the first cup of coffee. But oh, happy day, the dogs will get another biscuit.