It is a weekend, it is 6:40 AM. It is dark outside, it is dark in the bedroom, and I have no reason to leave my warm bed, except for one: Kona. She also has no reason to get up, except for her inner clock which tells her she must get me out of the bed. It is something that happens like clockwork every morning.
She drapes herself across me with her nose in my face. I try to regulate my breathing and not make any movements, hoping that she will think I am sound asleep, but not matter. She is on a mission, which is to get me out of bed and dressed.
When I finally can’t stand it any more and relent, she settles back in bed and she watches me dress. Then when I am done, she streaks out of the room, races down the steps, and waits. I have to go to the door, where she waits some more as I put on my outside clothes. I have to put the leash on her, because she can’t be trusted outside. Once out there, if there is any sign or scent of a deer, if she is unleashed, she will be gone.
One might think that having slept all night, Kona might need to pee, but when we first get outside, she is more interested in sniffing around, so I have to keep reminding her to pee, and finally she does, and so we can go back inside the house. As we fix our breakfast, Kona lounges on the couch, happy in her accomplishment and ticking off her first goal of the day: She has gotten her masters out of bed.
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