Morning rituals are important to us-on-four of K-9 descent. Well, at least in this pack.
After the last part of my night watch curled at Dad’s feet, I feel it’s important to confer with him the moment he starts moving about and sits down with his coffee.
Understanding that most mornings, Dad is not quite all there, even though his eyes are open (mostly). I know that the best thing for him in those moments is to let him slowly come to the surface by encouraging him to start massaging my back and hips, even though I want to start right away on the matters at hand and go over the day’s planned events.
Well, sacrifices must be made. I am the sheriff of the pack and vigilant patience is an integral tool of the trade.
Even though Hazel and Keira try to muscle in for Dad’s limited attention, I have my ways of returning his attention back to me. Keira (like several other Goldens I have known), will wind herself up into a butt swinging nuisance as she thwacks me broadside, or begin her staccato licking of my face trying to make me turn my head away. When her behavior hits a crescendo, and Dad’s face begins to show irritation, I have to stop her.
She knows levity and hi-jinks are not proper when Dad’s not fully alert. When I emphatically remind her of this fact, she does the “on her back, it’s all good bro routine” with front paws in the air in feigned surrender. The second I turn back to Dad, she jumps up nipping my back legs and telling me I say “funny words”.
Now that might be endearing to some of my readers, and honestly, I do have a soft spot in my heart for Keira, but sometimes her spastic outbursts are a bit much. I could say more about the “me-first” behavior of Retrievers in general, but I have been reminded on more than one occasion that I have Retriever blood in my mix, and I probably shouldn’t hurl glass houses at rocks. Whatever that two-legged saying means. I’m not sure.
The point being, I’m about to engage in a serious logistical discussion which has pack-wide implications, and that is no time to act like that other word for donkey that begins with the letter “J”.
So, as the lights slowly come on in Dad’s attic, and the girls of the pack reluctantly settle down, the payoff of my vigilant patience goes something like this.
Me: There’s a few matters we need to go over, Dad, and we probably should start with whether or not you’ll be doing the mail run or various errands in the limo (truck) today.
Dad: (Sips coffee…) Well, I have to check with the “jump master” first Tuck.
Me: Assuming jump master is a reference to Mom, I’ll continue down the list with the understanding that I’ll bring up this matter again at treat time.
Dad: Understood. Continue.
Me: On the matter of our morning treat, it is the consensus of the pack that the timing of said treats has been wandering past the oh-nine-hundred mark by varied degrees and has been a matter of concern for the pack as a whole. There have even been murmurings among unnamed members of the pack that the quantity of these treats should be increased. I want you to know that it is my studied opinion that enacting such a policy may not only heal the past offenses of tardiness, but will undoubtedly calm any unrest that may be brewing in the ranks.
Dad: (Sips coffee again, sighs, then tilts back his head and drains the cup) Tucker…I want you to know, and remember, that the more you sound like a politician, the less I’m inclined to act on anything you say.
Me: It’s my professionalism and desire for clarity that I–
Dad: Two treats on Tuesdays.
Me: –after… after…after all, I’ve been appointed as sheriff…AND Thursday AND Saturday…
Dad: No belly rubs on Wednesday then.
Me: Upon reflection, I believe Tuesdays and Thursdays will suffice in keeping the peace. However, there have been rumors of the pack unionizing.
Dad: There has? Under what union?!
Me: Teamsters. Pipe Fitters Union requires opposable thumbs to join.
Dad: Don’t dew claws count?
Me: Apparently not.
Dad: Well…. (Looking down into his empty cup) If the pack wants to join the Teamsters, there’s not much I can do about it. It’ll change a lot of things around here, but I think we can adjust. You know the couches aren’t union. They’ll become strictly management territory.
Me: I don’t think that–
Dad: And, of course, these morning meetings will be conducted with the shop steward, and you won’t be participating in that. Oh, and treats–
Me: (Speaking faster) –was fully on board with the idea!
Dad: You’ll be donating a percentage of your treats to the union.
Me: (Pressing my right paw against Dad’s knee) I think it’s best for all involved to table the union idea for now.
Dad: Alright Tuck, if you think that’s best.
Me: For now, yes.
Dad: Tuesdays and Thursdays, double treats?
Me: In a timely fashion, yes!
Dad: Duly noted.
Hazel, who had overheard the morning report, raised herself up from the rug by the patio door. After a full body and limb stretch, she wandered towards me. Dad was up to get another cup full, and Hazel waited till Dad was out of ear shot to speak.
“I told you not to let him finish his coffee. We almost lost couch privileges because you let him become fully awake. Timing is everything, Tucker.” With that, she wandered off toward the master bedroom.
I counted the morning as a victory, as I looked forward to Tuesday.
~Tucker Oso
