It’s 7:30 a.m. I am three weeks past my 75th birthday, a week past Covid and happy to be feeling well, even if forced to rise earlier than planned.
The day before my birthday, I got an oncology report with the words “no evidence of … ” The first-time Covid symptoms that started the day after my birthday remained mild, like flu or a cold.
This morning’s Cowboy wake-up racket started an hour ago, as always, at the crack of dawn. My still-under-the-covers biographical reviews are interrupted first by squeaky toys. If that doesn’t work, shoes are swung by the strings to thud against the glass of the patio door. Next, if I am still feigning sleep, is the surprisingly loud gnawing on a Nylabone. The gnawing, of course, is done near the dog door so the door, triggered by an electronic collar, keeps going up and down. In between these tactics, my spotted coyote-looking critter trots back and forth through across the bedroom, with a trip through the door each time, from the picnic table surveillance site on the south side of the house to the rabbit-watching window on the north.
If I move a muscle, the rodeo moves into bed.
Cowboy 2 has been here for about nine months now. We get along well despite divergent sleeping habits.
I can’t help staying up late after 40 years in the newspaper business, even nine years after retirement. I don’t unwind until after the rest of the immediate world has gone to bed. And for the last 39 years, since April 1985, I have lived without a relaxation aide called Jim Beam.
Cowboy 2 shuts down from sundown to sunup. According to the Best Friends sanctuary in Kanab, Utah, he was “living outside” before I got him. Now he enjoys retiring to a separate room and his own bed after realizing each evening that I will not be turning in at sunset
He seems a little frustrated each morning by my insistence on having two cups of coffee on the portal. At least he never seems to give up hope that I will break from the routine. I like to have coffee before engaging in any more movement than is required by first putting out food and water for the birds, making his breakfast, boiling water for the coffee and grinding my French roast beans.
I’m usually short on sleep while Cowboy seems to get plenty. But we’re working on it.
dream ranch 