On the down low

I did something a little different this morning. After pouring myself some Raisin Bran (I prefer Post, if you're wondering--yes, I am that particular), I ran downstairs to turn off the work reminder on my cell phone. My ever-faithful/ever-present dog, Bailey, trailed along, hot on my heels (I was carrying food, after all). Why go all the way back upstairs to eat? I thought. Thus we sat companionably plopped on the bedroom floor. (I don't often sit on my bedroom floor. On any floor, for that matter. Perhaps while stretching, or wrapping a present, I suppose. Otherwise, being often surrounded by overenthusiastic dogs, sheer self-preservation has usually kept me a couple of feet off the ground, at least.)

Anyhow, I was thinking of my upcoming day, Bailey--no doubt--thinking of how much he hoped I intended the extra milk for him. I was withholding the treat in what I thought a whimsical manner, but which the suffering Bailey no doubt viewed as capricious and cruel. He tried to appear relaxed--even had his head on the carpet--but I was no fool. I could feel the agitated muscles of his tense body leaning up against me. Seriously, 120 lbs of alert Old English Sheepdog is hard to overlook. Though I must say that I understood his eagerness. After-cereal-milk is a precious delicacy. When I was little, I campaigned vigorously at the grocery store for the Smurfberries cereal--solely due to the fact that the leftover milk was deliciously sugary and boasted a lovely lavendar shade.

Early morning moments--good times.