Three thirty in the morning. Somewhere, out there in the world of work, a driver is heading down the road perhaps late, worrying about a deer jumping in front of him. On that same road, perhaps, there’s work being done that can only be done at night, and there’s an inspector looking at his cell phone, wondering if the end of the shift will ever come. And somewhere, in my bedroom, is Lilith Anne, who decides that three thirty is the time to go out.
She plods to the backdoor, heavy footed with nails on the wooden floor, making sounds that all dogs in the house can hear, but I tell her no, and she comes back into the bedroom, I hear the sound of Lilith laying down again, and there is a sense of peace.
Then another sound rips asunder the still morning. It is a long, loud, ninth grade epic fart, that lasts so long, I fear Lilith might be deflating entirely. Or worst, having the largest bowel movement in canine history.
Alexa turn the light on, now, let there be light, and illumination shows no mess on the floor, but Lilith is already heading for the door. I let all four dogs out, because if I get up everyone else gets up. Wrex, speedy and motivated, fires out of the door at top speed, Lilith is next, with Budlore pushing ahead of Jessica.
Wrex has found an armadillo, and the chase, with all the excitement and noise that comes with it ensues. They trap the poor creature under the patio, with much growling, snarling, and drama. But wait, he’s escaped, he bursts into the open and heads towards the fence! Wrex backtracks, goes over the top of the patio, but Jessica is already worming her way under, and they collide as Wrex leaps off the patio and slams into Jessica just as she breaks into the open.
The armadillo zigs, zags, and because Budlore is more of a brawler than a boxer, he misses the last chance to catch the armadillo, and it goes through the fence and escapes.
Lilith, who is old and cannot chase very well at all, is reminded by her body what she came here for, and I return to go back inside she squats in a part of the yard, far from the backdoor. That is the only bright spot in this dark night.
At ten-minute intervals, the dogs return to the house and are fed.
At four something, I go back to bed.
At five, Wrex wants back out, because he thinks he heard something.
It is now six, and this is what I am doing instead of just starting my day.
Mike writes regularly at his site: The Hickory Head Hermit.
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