Who's up? Dog.

I have an all-weather dog. She's all-terrain too. On the one hand, this is awesome because I don't ever have dress her up. Raining? Fur coat. Snowing? Fur coat. Sunny? Sorry pooch, fur coat. On the other hand, it means I have to be an all-weather person. Dark and blowing sleet? I'll get another coat.

I like hiking and trail running, but my enjoyment doesn't ever seem to even approach her level of enthusiasm. While I huff and puff and struggle to maintain forward momentum up the trail, my dog runs way ahead, then back to me again, and off into the underbrush and back up yet again. For every mile I cover, she does at least 4. When we get to the top, or if I stop for a rest, she looks at me like we're going to play-wrestle right away. Somehow my leaning on my knees trying to prevent reverse peristalsis looks like a dog wrestling pose.

For the past few years, I haven't used the snooze button on my alarm. This does not mean getting up is any easier, I just prefer to sleep properly until it is time to stop, instead of inflicting a half hour of disruption on myself to start the day. Of course, while I fumble to find the floor and clothes, that crazy dog is pacing and yawning pointedly and panting at me.

I think she is more excited to get out when it is dark and cold and stormy than on a warm spring morning complete with early sunrise. I'd be lazier and softer if it wasn't for that dog huffing unapologetically at me each and every morning. Even on the days where I'm annoyed to be up so early, I can't stay grumpy for long; watching her bound into the tall grass or tear down the trail at full speed is a picture of pure joy. I suppose I'd start with a little more joy too if I knew I was going to get to go back to sleep for a few more hours when we got back to the house.