As always, I totally over-estimate my worth in the world.
Just about every morning around 4:30, my trusted basset hound Thunderball comes to the side of my bed, crying to get up. It’s important to note that he used to jump on the bed, no problem. About two years ago (and he’s only 4 years old), he decided he needed help to jump up…and I obliged him. Anyway, I made a deal with him that he can’t come up until 5:30. Does he remember that deal? Evidently not, because every day he shows up early and I have to remind him to “GET BACK TO YOUR BED!!” Uggggggggg!
Around 5:30 am, he returns, I get up, relieve myself, and lift him up to the bed. Fine…but he wants under the covers. Down he goes, wrapped around my knees…stretching out, rolling around, moaning and groaning. I’m pretty much done sleeping at this point. Side note: my lady friend always complains when I text her at 6:00 am. “Go back to sleep” is her response. Well…I would love to but this is in my bed:
Now…how the Hell am I supposed to even get back in bed…much less go back to sleep? The answer is I don’t. Downstairs I go, opening up the blinds, starting my coffee, relax in my recliner, watch LA news and then…THUMP! Sounds like someone dropped a bowling ball upstairs…it’s really just him jumping off the bed. Down he comes, finding me. He stretches, moans, groans (you get the picture). God forbid if I want to eat a small donut in peace. This is what I see:
My goal now is to finish my food and coffee and out-wait him, because I know that real soon I’ll see this:
Followed by this:
At last…some peace and quiet. All of this happens before 7:30. Wow…good thing I’m retired. Hopefully, people will realize why I frequently take naps. Did I mentioned I’m retired?