BREAKFAST RITUAL

After reading Arkansas Patti's Don't You Dare Sleep, I was reminded of our slave driving rescue dog, Luckie, and her demanding, punishing, breakfast routine.

Since I have had a surgical heart procedure and entered cardiac rehabilitation at an area hospital, I am a little fatigued at the end of a day. In fact, I have been sleeping like a baby (with night oxygen) and arising about an hour later than my previous routine.

At 76 I am not a hit-the-floor-running creature, as in my much younger years; I sort of wander around making two different pots of coffee, sometimes forgetting the coffee grinds and having to start over, etc. Nothing like a pot of hot water for husband when he awakens!

Abominable  Toy-no nose,arms, legs tail, ears.

However, when all goes according to Hoyle, I usually arise, possibly use the bathroom, weigh in my bunny suit, sometimes dress or wear a robe, make two different pots of coffee (one decaf, one regular), take my morning meds, and then feed Luckie while the coffee pots finish brewing.

Luckie has this routine timed to the second. She arises when I turn on the overhead light in the kitchen/den. She patiently plays with a toy which used to be a porcupine-her favorite toy, while I go through my routine. However, if I vary one iota she starts squeaking that horrid toy constantly until I get to her breakfast which consists of two meds wrapped in cheese, followed by kibbles and fresh water. She has no patience or sympathy for an old woman. Well, she is 12 years old (more or less) which is 69 in human years for a medium size dog.

That squeaker is the most nerve grating sound on a soul half-asleep. She squeaks it so fast, I don't think she takes a breath. She only stops when I have the cheese-wrapped meds ready for her. She brings the horrid toy and drops it at my feet; I swear she is sabotaging me, as I frequently trip over the toy and nearly fall--my punishment for being such a slothful servant to her needs.

She then eats her kibbles faster than I can fill her water pan. Then she goes back to bed with husband.....leaving me her toy to stumble over as I carry my coffee to my lift chair.

She has lots of toys but only plays with the squeaky ones. Maybe it reminds her of her younger chipmunk hunting days. The cute little chipmunks have moved out of our yard, because of the black monster that resides there.

It is amazing to me that this toy (she has two of same toy in deplorable condition) the squeaker even works. I have to do surgery on all her toys as she chews any extremities or decorations off--no tails, no feet, no noses, no eyes, no ears. BUT IT SQUEAKS. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr....... But we love her...

Luckie in Her Lift Recliner
(Believe me, she does not use the chair's features!
It was a used chair that is not very useful for its
original intent.; plus Luckies hastily exits the chair if
we turn on the mechanisms. She is equal, more or
less, to 69 in human years.)