Our morning routine's pretty simple around here.
We’re all tiny robots functioning in one small space.
The dogs don’t even respond to anything but this anymore.
They’re programmed and apparently content.
I, however, usually complain about it, but even that’s a routine in itself. I don’t even think I care anymore, really.
I wake up, long before the sun, Austin, and the dogs.
I work out, come home, take a shower, and stir up Indy and Frankie.
Boil a pot on the stove and fill up their food bowls.
Frankie eats like she’s never seen food in her life, and Indy waits.
There’s a 15 minute time window where Frankie lays, eyes magnetic to Indy’s full bowl of food, and prays that he spontaneously gets sucked up into outer space.
He knows the drill just as well as she, and he stands there, still..
He watches me, he’s patient.
I pour a cup of warm coffee. The blacker the better. I pair it with an egg and some greens.
When I sit, I tell him, “Eat your food, baby,” and so he does.
There’s something unspoken between us. A bond thick and humble. We share a heart, me and him. And I think he recognizes so.
He agrees to wait for me even when I tell him to go along, when I want him to have a chance to eat before I hurry out the door. He wants the company, and so I wait for him too.
I imagine us old. Waiting for one another. Enjoying our first meal of the day. Enjoying each other. And feeling full.
In our minds, we're the best friends to have ever lived.