It was Sunday morning, the highlight of my week.
I just knew it was Sunday. There was something in the atmosphere. No buzzing of clocks. No radios suddenly shattering the quiet of the early morning. Everything, and everyone, seemed to shift into S-L-O-W. Much too slow for me, thank you very much. This was my morning, and I was awake, and alert. The second the birds began to chirp outside the bedroom window, I tensed with anticipation, as tightly wound as the mantle clock downstairs.
Dead weight resurrected from underneath the duvet.
Please don’t take a shower! Please, oh please! You’ll only have to shower again.
The family would be going out later, all dressed up. I hated it when they left me behind, but the kid explained to me that my kind was not permitted where they were going. Reluctantly, I stayed at home. However, there was an upside. While they were gone, I got to sleep on the sofa in the living room, something not permitted when the family was in residence.
I listened intently as the bathroom door opened, then closed. Water flushed down my secondary water source. I heard taps. Water gushed, then stopped. Some brief splashing; then water gurgled down the drain.
Great, no shower! Breakfast soon.
The door opened. I raised my head. No use pretending disinterest at this point. HE knew what I was waiting for. It seemed like forever before HE pulled on his track pants and sweatshirt. Then came socks, shoes and sweat band.
Okay, are we ready yet?
I got off the bed and followed him downstairs, sticking as close to his heels as I could without tripping him. HE went into the kitchen. I stayed near the front door. I knew what he was looking for. Hopefully, HE wouldn’t stop to make some of that evil smelling brew HE usually cooked up in the morning.
No time. Got to get breakfast!
I reminded myself to stop whining. There was nothing that bugged him more than my whining. I held the urge back with fierce concentration.
HE came down the hall, my lead in one hand, and a plastic bag in the other. He snapped on the lead, opened the front door, and away we went.
I’ve had a well-rounded education, so I knew better than to rush our little encounter with nature. I itched to increase the pace the teensiest bit. Would HE notice if I took the lead here?
Probably. Breakfast might be at risk here, so cool your jets, pal.
Finally, duty done, we turned toward home. I was quivering with emotion. We weren’t going into the house — not yet. HE got to the driveway and pulled out his car keys. Lights flashed and locks flipped. HE opened the back door. I didn’t need a second invitation to jump in.
Timmy, get ready, here I come!
I was tempted to proclaim my enthusiasm. However, next to whining, HE hated that — especially when HE was driving. The car started. HE backed out of the driveway, (much too slowly) and we were off. I could hardly sit still. HE had cracked the window open so that I could stick my head out. I did. I could smell breakfast (I have a nose for these things).
Forget the budding trees and the greening grass. A pox on the squirrels and robins. Break out the Tim’s.
Not a moment too soon, the car swung into the drive thru.
Drat it all, there’s a lineup!
A sweet voice from nowhere said: “Good morning, how can I help you?”
I whined softly. I simply couldn’t help it.
“A large double-double, please.”
We pulled forward to the window. Excruciatingly slowly, it slid open. A hand appeared, holding a paper container. HE passed over a quantity of silver and the hand disappeared. The window closed.
Me. What about me? Where’s mine?
The window opened again, the hand appearing with the treasure of the ages in its grasp. HE took it, and turned. I opened my mouth. It was watering. I was drooling all over the back seat of the car.
Hurry, please. I’m dying here!
Into my waiting mouth dropped the single most delicious breakfast ever invented for man, or beast. I swallowed my Timbit* in one gulp. I had to do it fast: after all, HE only had the evil brew; I had the donut.
*Tim Horton’s will give a free timbit donut to any dog that accompanies his owner through the drive thru.
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