I hear that shakety-shake-shake-shake, ears flopping side to side against his head — the universal sound of Dog Waking Up. It’s pitch black. Four A.M. This is a little early for Ricky’s morning toilet ritual but, as they say, when you gotta go, you gotta go. Since we’re not set up with a doggy door, Ricky requires a human escort to perform this function. Today would be my turn.
We make our way downstairs, Ricky traversing — galomp, galomp, galomp — I clinging to the banister, virtually sleep-walking. I tug open the porch slider, and Ricky goes out and pees and poops, like a good boy. After he jumps back inside, I trudge back up the stairs; he — for the zillionth consecutive time — makes a quick detour through the kitchen, hoping against hope. But even he realizes, in the blackness, that it must be too early for breakfast. A few seconds after I’m in bed again, I hear him scampering up the stairs, leaping on the club chair in our bedroom, and circling his dog bed before settling back in.
A little bit later — unfortunately, not later enough! — I hear the shakety-shake again. Now it’s 5:55, and Ricky really wants breakfast. The rule is, if it’s 6 A.M. or after, he’s allowed to have his morning meal. I’m not going to split hairs over the five minutes. Besides, the sooner I feed him, the sooner I get back to bed.
We go downstairs again. I pour out his breakfast. I give him his morning pills — all 8 of them. He scarfs down everything — breakfast, pills — without even chewing, as if he hadn’t had a whiff of food in five months.
For the second time, I head back upstairs. For the second time, I go back to sleep. And for the second time, Ricky follows me, jumps up onto his bed on the club chair, and is soon snoring.
Soon — way too soon! — my alarm goes off. It’s 6:28 — time to wake Robby for school. I know, I know — he’s a senior, for goodness sake — but this is the special treatment we’ve given all three of our princes all through high school: wake ’em up, make ’em breakfast (even if it just means burning some toast), and roll ’em into their car.
At 7:15, Robby’s out the door. I go back upstairs for my last shot at sleep. I set an alarm for 8:30, when I’ll finally be getting up for good to start my day. As I hit the pillow, it dawns on me: Next year, Robby will be away at college. Next year, I’ll be getting up at 4 AM for Ricky’s toilet, and at 6 AM for Ricky’s breakfast, all this for a dog that Robby — and Robby alone — begged for. And Robby won’t even be here anymore!
Oh, Ricky, Ricky, Ricky, Ricky. It’s a good thing your daddy loves you.
We do a lot for our dogs,but their love and companionship pays us back a thousandfold.My dog passed away recently,but I used to walk her in blizzards ,rain, extreme heat and cold.Mostly she’d sleep all night,but once in a while she’d wake me to ‘do business’ at 2 or 3 a.m.And out we’d go,me in sweats and winter coat.I adopted her as an ‘older dog’ (5 yrs)from CT Humane and we had 10 yrs together.Pets are a lot of work,and expense-but they are well worth it.After a stressfull day at work-there’s nothing better than “doggy kisses”