The dog knows what time it is. The phone alarm is her bell. The sleeping man is her Pavlov. She knows that the bell means it is time for the man to wake up, to get up, to take her out to the yard to piss, and then — most importantly — to feed her.

Only the man lazily slaps the phone, and the alarm becomes silent. The man rolls over and returns to his slumber. She jumps on top of the bed, walking over to the man’s face and gently licking him.

“Go away, Dog,” the man mumbles. “I need to sleeeeep.”

This will not do. She knows what time it is. She wants her damned morning piss and her breakfast, like always.

The dog tries licking the man’s face again, but he rolls over and covers his head with the sheets. In her younger and less experienced years, she might have tried waking the woman. Several failed attempts have taught the dog this is futile. The woman sleeps with the strength of ten men.

The dog walks in distressed circles on the bed. She then jumps to the floor and tries a new tactic.

The door. If the door opens, it almost certainly means the man will wake up and take her out. Logically speaking, that is how it happens every morning.

The door opens, and after that she gets her food.

She scrambles up to the bedroom door and begins to scratch it. The door doesn’t move. She feels angry, perplexed by the man’s magic.

All he does (at least in her dog’s mind) is scratch at the door, and it opens. Nothing.

Well, maybe she can’t open the door, but she can raise hell until the man does.

So she scratches again, again, and this time begins to whine. The man sits up in bed and glares at her. All the same, he rises and opens the door.

bartender & writer developing into a well-adjusted person. 26. Los Angeles.

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