Minutia

6:30 am on a Sunday!

The only day in 7 that I'm able to sleep in and inexplicably my eyes pop open at 6:30 am.  I feel anger & annoyance begin to rise.  Shifting and arranging pillows and blankets I attempt slumber inducing comfort.  No luck.  Maybe I'm too warm.  As I throw off the bedspread I hear the distinctive yawn and stretch and the click of too long toenails of the old beagle on hardwood floors.  The return to sleep for me is no longer an option.  I fly out of bed and down the stairs before the impatient and unreliable beagle's bladder puddles in the dining room.  He greets me with his goofy whole body wag and smile and quickly trots to the back door.  How can I remain irritated?  No one else ever says good morning that happily.  I open the door to release the hound and feel the chill that has returned after our week of January thaw.  I was going to run down the hall and relieve nature's call as well but that old dog is quick  in cold weather and he'll be scratching for reentry before long.  I'll wait and watch the morning skies open and brighten. 

The squirrels scatter as the dog nears.  I look over to the picnic table to survey what remains of the treat I left for them last Sunday.  As the Christmas tree was being untrimmed and sparkle and spirit were packed away baring the house in that odd echo-y post holiday way I remembered the gingerbread house on the breakfast counter.  A few weeks ago my daughter and her friend spent an afternoon happily assembling and decorating. (From a kit mind you, not brave enough to try the real deal!)  Now dust encrusted and hard as a rock I decided to don the outdoors with the remnants of yet another holiday quickly gone.  Boo sniffed it out immediately but soon lost interest since his picnic table-climbing days are over.  For two days the sugary mini abode remained untouched.  On the third day the roof pieces were pried off and strewn as if a tiny twister had touched down in my backyard.  By Thursday huge hunks of gingerbread had gone missing and curiously enough squirrel behavior was faster, more frantic and frenzied, reminiscent of old silent Keystone Cops movies.  A week later there are a few petrified purple and orange gumdrops on the ground and some stupored sugar-crashing squirrels that are noticeably less arboreal. Heppin' up the neighborhood rodents on gingerbread, now there's a new tradition to begin!  Maybe that's the solution for the ubiquitous and dreaded re-gifted fruitcake that plagues the multitudes every December!

I hear the competing clocks ticking throughout the house.  Where is that dog?  It's cold and he should be done by now. (Me too!)  He's on border patrol.  Sniffing out the perimeter for potential danger.  (Squatting and sprinkling at strategic spots - leg lifting rarely happens now.)  He has these moments, although brief and unpredictable, of Snoopy-like puppydom.  Charles Schultz captured the infectious beagle mystique perfectly.  Finally, Boo makes his slow ascent up the deck stairs.  He stands at the wrong side of the door as I open it.  Looking up confused he corrects himself and enters.  Without even stopping at the pantry for his usual dog cookie mooch, he heads for his bed.

After taking care of my long overdo business... I grab a pen and paper and sit beside him to record these soon to be memories, glad to have the quiet opportunity.  Just as begin put pen and paper away, he's suddenly awake and leading me back to the pantry.  It seems the hound is commencing the harangue, he finally remembered the cookie mooch.