Dogs love routine.
They crave it.
And it doesn’t take much to turn a new, random occurrence into a hard-set expectation.
In this case, I’m thinking of the 7:30 am dog walk.
Which has only recently come about, but now gets treated with the severity of impending nuclear war with China over Taiwan.
(No joke.)
The looks I got this morning, when I was dragging, and hoping they’d just forget?
Such intensity!
10 days ago, there was no fucking 7:30 am dog walk, but that was 10 days ago.
“Move your ass, man! Get going!”
(They told me through their eyes.)
And honestly, a walk in the morning is lovely.
That’s the best part: the dogs are not wrong.
Getting out into the fresh air, not long after the sun has come up, (but long enough that it’s no longer freezing,) sets my day off in a different mood.
A bright mood.
I may resent the dog pack for its requirements, (sometimes,) but I simultaneously appreciate the wisdom of their doggie ways.
Sunshine and Olly 
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