On the weekends, my dog makes sure that I’m not late for work by licking my face at o’dark-thirty. Once satisfied that I’m up, she saunters back to her bed and lays down. She’s always got my back, that dog. Too bad I don’t work weekends.
Since being able to go back to sleep isn’t one of my super powers, I usually stumble down the hall, do some coffee voodoo and figure out what I’ll do with my day. I give thanks to the dog when up I’m early enough to take advantage of a day like this one:
The lesser seen side of Long Island, sans-hustle.
Seeing iris in bloom makes me smile. Every time.
Good morning, buffa-lumps.