When son Tim, about to run what may be his last cross-country race in college (Go, Tim!), was a toddler, he woke up one day and proclaimed. “This is the best day ever. I haven’t had this day before.”

I was just chuckling to myself how Cedar says that every morning. She doesn’t go nuts when I get up. She sits and watches me, to make sure I’m about to let her out of her pen. She’s getting a little reluctant to take my direction to go out the door to do her business (12-week teen-age phase is basically here), but she will follow if I go first. Once that’s done, it is time to celebrate the day through PLAY. I, on the other hand, need to go through this strange slightly loud ritual of making steam come out of a silver shiny thing on top of the big silver box, making a horrible crushing sound with some black cylinder, pouring water into another cylinder, creating a smell that smells like…well, good shit…before I get down on the floor to play. Then it’s GAME ON.

She’s all teeth of course. Just-can’t-help-it teeth. But she’s developed this sweet little habit of curbing her instincts (maybe her equivalent of my NA beer; more on that in another post, maybe), where she follows her open jaws towards me but tucks her head at the last minute, so she gives me an affectionate head butt, before squirming around, going upside down, right side up, nibbling my chin, and on it goes. Eventually I get to stand up and drink that coffee, although that’s often at the price of some tugs on the slippers. This morning she set in to be held like a 20lb. baby, so long as she could munch my hood strings on my sweatshirt. Last night when she decided it was time to play, she startled me by tapping me on the shoulder as I watched hockey highlights on my laptop at the kitchen table. (OFF, DOWN, and STAY still very much in the lesson plans.)

I like to do these little rambles while I drink that coffee and while she tolerates a bit more rest before it gets light and we see what this best day ever has to offer.

Yesterday’s offering included her first porky sighting. The good news is that I don’t think she made the transfer from the “blue porky” (boat scrub brush she loves to attack) to this one. The other good news is that she was on the leash while I scratched my head about whether I could make it a teachable moment. Unsurprisingly, nothing came of my head-scratching. The bad news on the “blue porky” front is that she does make the transfer to any broom. Hence the floor pictured below.

Go fast, Tim, on this particular best day ever. We’ll likely go slowly here, but who knows?

May your day have some kind of surprise that makes you sit and wonder.

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It’s possible that my neighbors just saw me go all Pete Rose on Cedar. There was no betting involved, and no umpire-shoving, but… I called Cedar, she looked at me and walked the other direction. I tried running away and excitedly beckoning her. She ignored me. I told her to sit. She considered for a second, and sauntered on. I stepped towards her. She backed away. And so, I went Pete Rose airborne, grabbed her by the scruff, and then (all pride gone now, I’ll switch sports), I tucked her under my arm like a football and brought her straight inside.

We recovered (somewhat) with the 25′ leash, which I can use to reel her in like a late July humpy, a tiny bit of fight left in her, but at least, when she’s not tripping all over the leash, some resignation.

Here’s the difference between me and Pete at this moment: I’m not betting on our team.

There’s always tomorrow, I guess.

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I should not have made fun of the AKC’s exhortation of patience this week. As I was making coffee just now, I gave myself a pep talk for being more monk-like. (Not the easiest move for an ex-hockey player.)

“Come on. Focus on the good things.” At least there’s coffee.

Cedar’s will is growing, at least. Yesterday, as often as not, she gave me that look of “I know exactly what you are asking me to do, and I’m not even slightly interested in doing it…” with Sit, Let’s Go, Come. She ignored her name. She did not “express herself” with poo on either of our night outings, and left me a giant present to start the day. She’s scooting into every open doorway ahead of me, on a fanatic quest for socks, underwear, or other gems which–if she grabs–she will race out of my grasp to go savor.

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The sky is dark, the forecast grim, and the yard is soggy again. If Cedar’s here to teach me patience, I guess she has plenty of work to do, too. See that, AKC authors? I can see the world through the (squinting devil) eyes of my (alligator) pup—momentarily.

Back to the monk book.

P.S. We did have a hilarious quick trip to the beach yesterday. She was the embodiment of happiness, darting around in circles, wading into the water, nibbling jellyfish, sitting and sniffing the air to absorb new bird sounds, and feasting on a million new sensations.