It's Saturday. I was looking forward to getting some good rest and seeing the alarm clock stay off as I dozed through double digits after a tiring week at the office. It didn't happen - not because the alarm went off, or because the phone rang, or anything normal. It was of course, the dog. Molly, our 16 year old beagle, has a certain lifestyle she's used to. So when it gets past 6:30, she's sure it's time for breakfast, and surely, if I'm asleep, she'll wake me up and remind me that I messed up somehow.
So this morning, her incessant whining and poking with her paw jarred me awake. I fed her, and there wasn't any way that I could go back to bed. Not that it bothered her any. She had no problem using the stepstool next to the bed, and launching herself into my spot, which was warm enough for her to begin her after-breakfast nap. She has a routine, you know.
