So we move a little slow

[lizblackdog]

The thing I hate most in the world about my dogs is their awful morning enthusiasm. I wake up like Nick Mallory (from the Diana Wynne Jones books, he's in The Merlin Conspiracy and Deep Secret) and I am non-functional for several hours/pints of coffee after waking up. It wasn't such a problem at Mum's, I could leave the back door open to the garden and sit around in my dressing gown till noon if I wanted. Here, though, there is no garden and no back door, and I am required to be fully dressed and at least alert enough to keep hold of their leads every single time they take a piss. I quite enjoy it the rest of the day - it gets me out, it gets me talking to my neighbours and it improves their leash manners (well, Squish's, anyway - Spike still cherishes a secret belief that if he takes off fast enough and has enough faith, the leash will have retroactively ceased to exist and he'll go straight to warp. It's hard on the wrists.)

But the morning one just kills me. Sometimes if I've taken them out really late the night before I can sit for half an hour and get one cup of coffee in, but what with Spike's phaser stare and random cold nose attacks and Squish's little "don't mind me, I'll just starve to death in a pool of my own pee" noises, usually I just bite the bullet and take them immediately. They follow me to the bathroom and jump up and down while I pee, they help me put my clothes on, and when I reach for the leads they explode like a pair of squealing bouncing fangirls while I stand there like a zombie trying to attach them to the collars. It's torture - and I have to do it every fucking morning.

Also, two of my right-hand fingers are randomly sore and unusable this morning. I have no idea why. It makes typing tricky. I'm starting to wonder if I'm getting rheumatic in my old age.

*grump piss moan grumble*

Comments

[lizblackdog.livejournal.com]

That, too, is a given, dear...