My dogs are seriously messing up my mornings.
For the past several months, I’ve been trying to wake up earlier so as to get to the gym first thing before heading into the office.
Every day, my alarm goes off at 5:45 a.m. And for the most part, I’m already awake when it does. Juiced to get up and get moving.
Mr. Moo and Tulip, on the other hand, are having none of it.
You hear stories all the time about people’s pets forcing them out of bed sooner than they’d like.
Standing on pillows, demanding breakfast. Pawing at faces to be let out to pee.
Not my furkids. Unless we’re at the beach and Moo can smell that salt air tempting him for a sunrise run, my two are under the covers and out of commission until at least 7 o’clock.
I’m up, showered, with blow-dried hair and my leggings on and they’re still nestled beneath the duvet, utterly disinterested in my desire to catch the proverbial worm.
I mean, I don’t blame them. It’s not like I’m dying to head out into the world while the sky is still dark – especially when it’s this cold.
And as a person for whom routine rules, I understand their reluctance for change.
That said, I also don’t want to turn into a lump of human mashed potato simply because my dogs couldn’t be bothered to go for a walkie an hour earlier.
I’ve tried explaining the situation: That this early-morning window is often the only opportunity I have to fit an uninterrupted hour of exercise into my day.
Also, that I leave the comforts of home multiple times daily, layering on two coats, a hat, gloves and boots and braving the winter weather so they can sniff every single thing on Earth and – maybe – make a potty in the process.
We have had long discussions about the importance of Mommy’s Me Time, and how everyone deserves to practice some self-care.
Knowing how much they enjoy when I sing to them, I’ve even turned my lament into a catchy little tune.
“Please get up so I don’t get fat, I love you now, but will more after that. Please go downstairs so we can put on our leash, so Mommy can go do her stress relief.”
(I know, it’s a gift.)
“Why don’t you just move them so they get up?” folks may ask.
To which I say: You’ve clearly never tried to push a 70-pound pit bull out of a warm bed before.
Or tried to force a Jack Russell to do, well, anything.
I explain to my beloved children that it’s therapeutic. That an active lifestyle is imperative at my age. That I’ll get osteoporosis, heart disease, depression and a pot belly if I can’t do this one very important thing.
I plead. I cajole. I promise pieces of cheese.
I tell them they are the lights of my life and I would die 1,000 deaths before I’d ever let anyone hurt them and ask only this very small favor in return.
Please, pretty please, my precious little angels, can we just get up a teeny, tiny bit earlier so I can go work out.
I look for understanding in their deep, soulful eyes. The acknowledgment of my simple, heartfelt request.
Mmm … nah.
Katie Long McDowell is the managing editor and lifestyles columnist for The Dominion Post. Email kmcdowell@dominionpost.com
