At 4am I'm startled by the incessant beeping of Mom's cellular device. The thought of getting out of bed right now is sickening and I can tell Mom feels the same way by her abrupt commotion and her inability to open her eyes. She slowly rolls to the nightstand and, thankfully, puts an end to the aggravating sound. I discretely snuggle into her a little tighter and hope she will go back to sleep. I have confidence this snuggle technique will work as I am told humans find it difficult to resist my warm body that smells like the perfect combination of coconuts and Fritos. Unfortunately, my vain attempt fails and before I can comprehend what is taking place, Mom is in the living room with the light blaring.
However, within seconds I'm fast asleep.
Thirty minutes later I'm shaken once again, but this time it's by Mom's voice. "John, time to get up."
I don't react when I hear the word "John" but I've noticed Dad does. Still, neither of us moves. I am determined to win this battle this morning. Today is my day to keep one of them in bed with me. I nudge my head into Dad's back and let out a sigh. Dad is more like me; we could sleep for days if it weren't for hunger, thirst, and frequent trips to the bathroom or yard.
"John, are you coming to the gym or not?" Mom asks.
"Ugh", Dad groans. "Yeah, I'm coming." And in that moment, I'm defeated. Another battle lost. Dad creeps out of bed and tucks me into the California King. I twist my neck, shake my ears, and groan to let him know I am not happy with his decision. Does he not realize I sacrifice my space and comfort each night in our bed to make his life easier? The least he could do is stay in bed with me.
"Don't worry, guys. I'll keep the bed warm in case you change your minds."
The sound of my parents stirring in the kitchen is quite distracting. The pantry door opens and closes. Mom paces back and forth. Bags are packed. Zippers are zipped. I life my head and take a few short sniffs to see if Mom's food is worth getting out of bed. "Is that oatmeal? Not worth it. Later, guys."
Once again, I drift back to sleep to dream of warm summer days spent under the hammock in the backyard, surrounded by hundreds of peanut butter filled bones.
Before I make it halfway through the dream, Mom and Dad are back. The front door creeks open and I hear Mom calling my name. Slowly, I stand up, shake the blanket off my back, and stretch. I hop to the floor and drudgingly walk to the kitchen, sad to get out of bed but happy to see my humans. My white nub wags with excitement.
"You were still in bed? You're livin' the life, pup", Mom says. "Wanna eat?"
"Of course I want to eat! I will sit here patiently until my chicken, rice, and veggies are placed inside my bowl. Take your time. You know I like my chicken cut very small."
The sun is sluggishly making itself visible and I can tell by its slow pace we share the same sentiment about mornings.
Once my breakfast is on its proper place, I get a pat on the head and I devour the food. Delicious as always. After breakfast, I make my way to the couch to rest. Eating can be exhausting. I let out a burp and observe the morning routine. Dad gets ready for "work". I don't really know what that word means. All I know is it means he's walking outside of the house and will return frustrated and tired. Dad is always in a rush in the morning, and is never short of jazzy tunes to sing. The way he moves around the house makes me wonder if this is what humans mean by "tornado". Mom is a lot calmer, but consistently moving, making sure our three member family is adequately fed for the day. She then disappears into the shower and I ponder all the reasons she does that every day. It takes two humans to pull me into that thing.
But then, once Mom is out of the bathroom, I can feel my excitement growing. My favorite part of the routine is about to happen.
Mom says the magic words, "Achilles, wanna go for a walk?"
Without saying a word, I run to get my leash and meet Mom at the front door. Walking is not a hobby for me; walking is a job. I have heard Mom and Dad say I was named after a Greek demigod. The original Achilles was a momma's boy who was highly aggressive and utterly handsome. If that's the case, they named me correctly. My walks are the time I can live up to my name. It is my duty as Achilles of Ronkonkoma to patrol the streets and protect my family from harm.
Mom fastens the leash to my collar and we're off. We walk the streets of our neighborhoods, heads held high and chests puffed. Mom nods to the neighbors and I lunge at them letting them know they are not allowed too close to my family. I sniff the ground and smell the other commoners that patrol my territory. I lift my leg and urinate wherever I feel necessary. This is my town and I will piss where I want.
Eventually, we make our way back home. Mom takes off my leash, I sloppily drink water, and I head to the couch to relax and ponder the excitement of my patrol. It won't be long before my humans are back from "work" and it will be time for me to prepare for my second patrol of the day. While I make a mental checklist of all the places I must urinate later on, Mom and Dad say their goodbyes and head out for the day. I am left in complete silence and the racing of my thoughts. However, it seems as though the walk has exhausted me and I am due for another nap.
