Damien Galeone

Mornings can be hard for a morning person. You see, a lot of my universe centers around the fact that I get up early. I get up early, I do my writing early, I work out early. And so before I leave for work, I have accomplished these things. The hinge factor here is – you guessed it – getting up early.

The problem is, I am not necessarily a morning person. I am more not an afternoon person. I write and work out in the morning because I can’t reasonably accomplish them in the afternoon.  

Oh, I enjoy doing these activities – or as Mark Twain said, I enjoy having done these activities. But my day-to-day is pretty tiring, so if I don’t write or work out in the morning, the chances of them happening later in the day are in line with Donald Trump getting a fourth presidential term and me voting for him. With each passing hour and its new mini-soul-crushing defeat, my motivation and discipline take another shot of ain’t-gonna-happen juice at the metaphorical sadness pub in my thorax. And if I go a few days without working out or writing, well I start having gamey fantasies the likes of which would garner the attention of medical professionals.

And so – for my sanity – I do it in the morning.

But I feel cheated, because I don’t have the morning person experience. That experience? Well, let’s imagine a genuine, card-carrying morning person. They’re up before their alarm dancing and singing ABBA songs into one of the croissants they’d baked in the wee hours. Their minds are awake, aware, alert, and ready to create or produce by 5 am. They look good.

Not me, no. When my alarm goes off, I let out a whimper and evolve myself out bed like the creature of the Black Lagoon. I put clothes on backwards; I retrain my body how to walk and reach for things. Then I stumble around and question my life choices. Good morning!

We have a dog. It’s a shih tzu with crooked teeth who sleeps in bed with us where she grooves herself around things – pillows, legs – like a hairy jigsaw puzzle piece. Long ago, I noticed that this dog awoke each morning as though someone had snuck in and injected her with 1000 ccs of whatever acts as doggy caffeine. My alarm goes off and she jumps up and hops around and licks us and just seems to be in a state of absolute and utter joy.

I have always found this wonderfully charming. However, like most self-involved goons, I couldn’t see past the sweetness of it and into the little life lesson being delivered every morning right in my own bed. This dog wakes up every day just thrilled to be part of our little pack. It’s like she can’t believe her good fortune, and she is abounding with gratitude.  

Great Anubis! Here I am! Again! Oh wow, look – it’s my mom and my dad! They’re both here! I am so happy! Whoa! What a great day!

I know this is an old lesson from dogs, but it’s a good one. We dumb humans are too prone to moaning about the immediate discomforts or everyday stresses that we fail to see the big picture: it’s amazing that we’re here, it’s amazing that we get to spend time with awesome people we love, it’s incredible that we have homes and beds and dogs in those homes and beds.

So, my dog might have crooked teeth and she may be prone to eye infections, and she may occasionally step in her own poop, but she’s a trusted advisor to this particular old man in the areas of outlook, appreciation, and how to not cry in the morning.