I am not going to go in to glorious detail about my ablutions or ceremonies on the water closet.
No, this post is about a different morning routine altogether (someone shrieks). If your guess had sinister underground dungeon in it, then you're wrong again. I will reserve that routine for another post.
It starts when I leave my house each morning. I go in search of a sleeping brown dog.He has three favourite sleeping places, so this does not take too much of my time.
When I find him, either curled up by the edge of someone's house or lying sprawled on the road, I whistle from afar to announce my arrival so that he does not jump up with a start.
On some days, he is buried under several layers of sleep and I have to call him several times before he wakes up red-eyed, wags his tail once and then sinks back to sleep.
On other mornings, he opens eyes for only as long as it takes to determine who woke him up and whether that person is agreeable to him being there(a lot of the inhabitants of the colony object to the friendly bandit dogs, you see).
"Oh it's you," he seems to say every morning, closing his eyes again, greeting me with sleepy wags of his tail, turning around imperiously to present me with his belly that I obediently rub.
You might think it evil of me to wake up a sleeping dog each morning. You will be comforted to know that he pays back for it most happily by startling me every other day. His way of greeting me when he spots me idly walking about is to stealthily creep up behind me and stick his damp nose into the palm of my hand. I almost hear him chuckle every time.
"Touche, pussycat!"
No, this post is about a different morning routine altogether (someone shrieks). If your guess had sinister underground dungeon in it, then you're wrong again. I will reserve that routine for another post.
It starts when I leave my house each morning. I go in search of a sleeping brown dog.He has three favourite sleeping places, so this does not take too much of my time.
 |
| One of Goofy's favourite places is right outside my gate |
When I find him, either curled up by the edge of someone's house or lying sprawled on the road, I whistle from afar to announce my arrival so that he does not jump up with a start.
On some days, he is buried under several layers of sleep and I have to call him several times before he wakes up red-eyed, wags his tail once and then sinks back to sleep.
On other mornings, he opens eyes for only as long as it takes to determine who woke him up and whether that person is agreeable to him being there(a lot of the inhabitants of the colony object to the friendly bandit dogs, you see).
"Oh it's you," he seems to say every morning, closing his eyes again, greeting me with sleepy wags of his tail, turning around imperiously to present me with his belly that I obediently rub.
You might think it evil of me to wake up a sleeping dog each morning. You will be comforted to know that he pays back for it most happily by startling me every other day. His way of greeting me when he spots me idly walking about is to stealthily creep up behind me and stick his damp nose into the palm of my hand. I almost hear him chuckle every time.
"Touche, pussycat!"
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