Every dog has its day

I'm a dog person. I have nothing against cats. I love them and think they are beautiful and wonderful and mysterious creatures. But for companionship, I prefer dogs.

I own a beautiful and expressive and all-around amazing dog. For continuity's sake, I will give her a pseudonym, J.C., and leave it at that. She's part lab, part something else, so she's a real dog, not a ten pound look-alike.

My dog cracks me up. When I first got her, she was definitely a morning dog. Woke up perky, happy, ready to face the day. She would practically prance out of my room, and, upon seeing that I was not following her with the same enthusiasm and zest for life, she would return, nudging my cold, practically lifeless body with her even colder nose. I'm not sure how she does it, but she always manages to get her nose through my blankets to either the small of my back or the inside of an elbow or some equally patch of soft skin. I don't know if anyone else has experienced this doggie torture. I swear, a cold nose shove could wake you from a coma. After the nose-shove, I would startle, hit my head on something while flailing wildly, and finally but groggily get out of bed. Once I was vertical, my dog would do her happy dance, leaping in circles. In all honesty, her enthusiasm was a bit disgusting to me.I'm a night owl, so I'm a bit of a morning zombie until I get caffeine in my system. I prefer either a giant cup of coffee or an injection directly to blood stream.

Nowadays, she wakes up at the slow pace that I do. Even once I'm out of bed, dressed, and eating breakfast, she lounges, either collapsed on her side by my feet or in my bed. Generally by the time I've finished eating, she has her head on my pillow.

Additionally, my dog has learned that when I put on socks, I generally intend to put on shoes, which usually means she gets a walk. When it's raining, however, which it does quite often, J.C. categorically REFUSES to go for a walk. She sees the rain, turns and looks at me, and, only because I have her connected to a leash, walks grudgingly and slowly behind me. She makes a mad dash for the bushes beside my house, which provide cover from the TWO DROPLETS falling from the sky, and does her business. She then sprints back to the front door. I stand at the end of the leash. She looks at me, then looks back at the door. Looking at me again, she gives me the pleading puppy dog eyes (she is a puppy dog after all), and at that point I give up entirely and join her inside, if for nothing else then to stay up to an insane hour and sleep til noon with her at my side, hogging the bed as always.

Next time I decide to talk about dogs, I'll fill you in on the yapping beanie baby that my father calls a dog. I call it annoying.

In the words of my favorite spring-tailed tiger,

Tata for now!

-T.A.D.