The sneak attack begins, and I am expecting it. I will not put up a fight, because I can’t win this battle, nor do I want to. The invaders are like thieves inside my house in the pre-dawn. They furtively sneak into the living room, where I sit on the couch, drinking coffee and writing. Before I can make an attempt to defend myself, I throw in the towel, and smile.
I am a willing hostage.
Baron, one of my two German Shorthair Pointers, jumps up on the couch next to me. He places his head at my hip, gently nudging me, then lies down, rolling over, exposing his belly. He begins pawing at me, excited for what he knows is coming.
Blue Dog, my Basset Hound, jumps onto the other living room couch, then climbs on the headrest like a cat. She is effortless in her athleticism. She smudges the front window shamelessly, her nose firmly pressed against it. She is fixated on anything that dares to move in the front pasture. Size doesn’t matter to her. Elk, deer, rabbits, Sasquatch, if it’s edible, she’s game.
If only I’d let her out…
Oakley, full sister to Baron, saunters into the living room last, nose working, more concerned about getting a pre-breakfast appetizer, than wondering what Blue is up to. She jumps up on the couch, curls into a ball, and patiently stares at me, knowing I’ll get up and get a treat for her.
I stop drinking coffee and move the computer off my lap. There are some daily rituals that need to be addressed before I continue to write.
Baron groans as I begin gently scratching his throat, which he has willingly offered me. As I go deeper, massaging him, the groaning begins. I then move to his chest and tummy, making sure that I don’t miss under his front legs. The groaning stops and the whining begins, softly, then louder. This is one very spoiled dog.
Blue makes her way down from the other headrest. With her long body, she easily spans the armrests between the two couches. She yawns, then stretches, staring me down to get her fair share of attention. I pat my lap. She Who Will Not Be Ignored slinks her way over to my armrest and sits on it. She then begins pawing at me, insisting that I give her the attention she’s entitled to.
She has no idea that she is the luckiest dog in the world. I rescued her as a nine-week-old puppy from a family that never wanted her. She was terrorizing their ten-year-old Malamute, trying to play with an old dog that didn’t have play in him anymore.
I brought her home without telling my husband. He was furious that I didn’t ask him before walking through the door with a sleeping puppy in my arms. The final straw for him was that it was a BASSET HOUND! He told me that they were the dumbest dogs on the planet.
I explained to him that Basset Hounds are like mules. Not only do they share huge ears, but both are also very smart and independent. Hounds are supreme hunters. They really aren’t dogs; they’re noses on legs. They must be respected for doing what they do best. Their nose dictates their lives. The nose is what they’re bred for, and when they are done hunting, if in a controlled environment, they’ll never be found by a stranger fifty miles away from home.
We slept on opposite sides of the king size bed that night, puppy between us, blissfully unaware that I needed to apologize for not letting my husband know I had brought a new family member home.
Blue is now his personal bodyguard, protecting him from the creatures of the night.
Writing is important, but being up early isn’t always the peaceful. experience I expect it to be. The coyotes howl, male owls hoot at each other for territorial and mating rights, cows low, and my dogs join me on the couch, blissfully snoring beside me, subconsciously supervising my efforts.
In the words of one of my favorite songs, all is calm, all is bright.
