Some Mornings

It was time to go -- five minutes past time. And the freeway is a demanding mistress: leave five minutes too late and you'll get to work 30 minutes later than usual.

As we walked to the door, the dog looked to the boy's room.

Ok. Let's go wake up the boy.

He wagged his tail and started jumping and looked up at me and down the hall to the dark room where the boys sleeps.

Yeah. The boy. Let's go wake him up!

With that, he dashed down the hallway and around the corner and started barking at the sleeping boy in the bunk. The once-sleeping boy was motionless for a while and then groaned and then stared over the edge at the wagging, jumping, barking dog.

He had no choice. He had to get up.

Be a good boy, I said. I'll see you on Wednesday. And I turned to leave.

Wait, came a plea from the bedroom. Wait!

I stopped at the front door and waited.

He came down the hallway in his underwear with a wagging, jumping, barking dog alongside. He came around the corner and into the foyer in full view of any passers-by and gave me a hug goodbye.

Some mornings are better than others.

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