Mornings

In the mornings, Angus likes to lie in a patch of sunshine.

 Mornings are the sweetest time. Angus stirs around 5 a.m., starts making little chirpy noises. I call to him from where I am lying in bed: "It's OK, Buddy, I'm right here," in hopes that he's just feeling a little lost, as we often do when we wake up in the dark alone. Sometimes it works and he settles down; other times (like this morning) he's not after reassurance; he's after getting on with things.

We go downstairs and he is not chewing on me or jumping; he's still a little sleepy, and he licks my face or my hand and then staggers out into the cold yard.

On the walk, after breakfast, we walk fast; he is a good walker on the leash when it is just the two of us. This morning we walked for almost 40 minutes--down to the lake, and then over the pedestrian bridge and back past the pileated tree. The sky was just waking up, a pale peach at the eastern horizon, pale blue above. A half-dozen crows flew overhead and Angus tilted his head to watch them go.

Back home, he plays with Rosie a little. And then he finds a patch of sunshine, curls up and falls asleep.