A Humid Morning

A Humid Morning

My mornings start at 5:30 a.m. if I can convince my dog, Gus, to sleep in. The moment I make the slightest movement, I can hear the little thump on the floor as Gus leaps off the bed. Gus, the little 12-pound Maltese mix can hardly contain himself, and he can’t stop making excited barks and spinning around the room. After all, the BEST DAY EVER has begun. The breakfast waiting for him downstairs is going to be the BEST BREAKFAST EVER (even though, of course, it is the same breakfast that he has had for the last 5 years). Bunnies and squirrels, and dog urine smells await in the nature park, and of course, snuggles, lots and lots of snuggles. Perhaps there will even be someone on the nature trail to pet him. OOOh, the possibilities.

I place him back on the bed and try to sleep until 5:30. He sits over me, motionless, his soft brown eyes trying to catch mine, he has my number. Afterall, it is going to be a glorious day. I have had many dogs in my life, both as fosters and my own, but I have never had a dog with as much joie de vivre as this little guy. And at such an early hour.

By 5:30, it is hopeless. So I roll out of bed and begin my morning routine. Despite his advanced age and heart condition, Gus’s excitement and enthusiasm overwhelms the room. He bounces back and forth between the bedroom and bathroom, spinning in excitement. Let’s get this day started!

My other elderly dog, Annie, had hoped that this might be the morning that she gets more shuteye…but she can’t contain his enthusiasm either. She is patient. The two have been together for years now and have helped each other learn to trust. He gives her comfort; she gives him someone to boss around.

Gus’s body is too long for the steep stairs, so he bounces down diagonally like he is riding a pogo stick. Annie, always a fancy mover, shows more grace and balance, and is no hurry. Her breakfast will be there.

The next part of our routine is one of his many favorites. BREAKFAST followed by a dental TREAT, the most delicious one EVER. He gulps his breakfast without bothering to chew while Annie sniffs around delicately slowly approaching her food. After finishing his meal in 30 seconds, Gus sits next to her and eyes her bowl, hoping for a diversion. Annie is a very slow eater, and there are no treats until she finishes. Maybe something might cause her to look away and he can sneak in a couple of bites. Gus is on strict diet because of his ailing heart, she is a 16 year old with a 7-year-old’s body.

Gus’s next pleasure awaits if I can just sip my tea a little faster. Like Annie, I am unaware of how amazing this day is going to be.

It is a warm, humid, summer morning. In the past, I might have dreaded the hot, humid day that follows. But now, I absorb the sensuousness of a warm humid morning, the afternoon stickiness will come soon enough.

The clouds to the west are an ominous grey, hinting at a cheerful rain shower to feed my thirsty garden. The warm air envelops me like a womb, the cooling breezes swirl around my body as we begin our walk to the nature trail. Distant chimes tinkle like school bells of old, telling us to wake up, a school day awaits. Now they only offer a quiet memory.

On our way to the trail, the bunnies become motionless, eyeing Gus and Annie. Gus is low to the ground, so his vision is limited by his height, but it is just the right height to find bunnies and squirrels. The bunnies remain stationary, they have learned not to fear leashed dogs.

At the nature trail, the squirrels dash up the trees and taunt the dogs as we stroll by. Gus lifts his head, periodically, sniffing and searching the trail for the scent of people, of course, people who want to pet him. Because in Gus’s world view, everyone wants to pet him.

I stop at the covered bridge to feel the cool breeze envelop and calm me while I scour the waterscape. I can hear the pterodactyl squawks of the Great Blue Herons in the rookery above. This is the time of year that there is a lot of racket in the rookery, and I suspect that the chicks are teenagers now; and the battles have begun. In the creek, I spy a muskrat with reeds in her mouth, leaving a shallow V-shaped wave in her wake.

The slight breeze now has a mild metallic scent. Maybe the darker cumulous clouds will bring a morning shower.

A pair of bluebirds are perched on the electrical wires above. What is it about bluebirds that make us smile? Maybe it is their song, their beautiful blue feathers, their orange chests, or their pudgy little bodies. But I never tire of watching them. They are blessedly abundant on the Eastern Shore.

A mated pair of cardinals fly across the asphalt pathway on the other side of the bridge, showing off their bright red feathers, reddish beaks, and their crowns.

If I am lucky I might see a bright yellow male goldfinch or perhaps the most of beautiful of birds, a male indigo bunting claiming his territory. He announces himself at the very top of the tallest tree with his scratchy music box song.

Gus desperately wants to run, another one of his FAVORITE things. If he could, he would run as fast and as far as he could. His favorite game is one that he invented, called “come on, Gus.” When he is off leash at home, he waits for me to realize that he is no longer following Annie and me. I turn around, crouch down and call “come on, Gus.” He races at top speed and jumps into my arms, or if he is feeling his oats, at the last minute, skirts around me and circles back. World’s best game.

But soon, I can hear the tell-tale cough. Gus has an enlarged heart, congestive heart failure, and he is already past his life expectancy for this disease. The vet believes that it was probably caused by heart worms because he received no vet care in his prior home. I think that it is appropriate that that is this disease. His heart is just too big.

Gus was the dog that I adopted out of kindness. He was a nasty, biting, snarling, angry middle-aged boy. The shelter convinced me that he was unadoptable and only someone with my experience could take him. So I did him a favor.

WRONG. He changed the trajectory of my life. When PTSD episodes emerge from my past trauma, he jumps up on the sofa to snuggle. He has brought my daughter and me closer, (he thinks of her and her new fiancé as “better petters”). His loving soft brown doe eyes melt my heart, every time.

But it is time to go back home, to keep him alive as long as possible. So I inhale the moist, soothing air, shake my hair in the breeze, and focus on the symphony of the birds (trying to tune out the discordant rhythm section of the squabbling herons). Smelling the newly cut grass, the scent of a few non-stop roses, I close my eyes and slowly breathe in the fresh air of the summer morning.

Gus is now seated down next to me; he knows that he can’t walk anymore and it is time to be picked up. As I lift him, his eyes search for mine. His eyes are full of love and gratitude and pure trust. I smile back and give him a little kiss on his head. His soft, fluffy white body snuggles in, and he rests his head on my shoulder. We head back home as Annie trails respectfully on the leash.

It doesn’t matter what the humid day will bring, I am living in the now, enjoying this beautiful summer morning, filled with bright colors of green, red, yellow, blue, and white, the symphonies of songbirds, the encasing warmth of the breeze. Holding onto my 12-pound teacher for as long as I can.