On Rabbits and Ritual

We have a ritual in our desert abode, designed to give Carolynn a few more minutes of snooze time on work days and prepare me for a writer's daily rigors. Rather, it's our beagle, Scottie's ritual which we have adjusted to and is performed before I ever touch fingers to keyboard. Every morning begins with her sitting alertly on solo post at the end of our bed; studying north, east and west approaches. If there's a coyote or rabbit or two-legged varmint within a mile or so, she'll let you know with a low growl and whine.

On a normal day, I arise and let her out the pet door to perform a solo jaunt in the fenced-in backyard. She follows her nose around the entire perimeter pausing at favorite spots. I make coffee and ladle out her morning chow. Very orderly, and most mornings quietly, so Carolynn can snooze. Scottie eats. Then, as I sip a hot, steamy cup of joe, we head out the front door for the target-laden northern approach. Mind you, Scottie has learned to step back from the door, on command, albeit excitedly, as I fasten her leash and open the door. She normally follows me out the door.

That's on a normal day. Not this morning. No, sir. This morning little Miss Super-Nose sniffed a rabbit out front, and as soon as I leaned over to snap the leash on her collar, she bolted. My hot coffee flew magically from my left hand, bounced off an entrance mat and drenched the front porch. Meanwhile, Scottie is a full quarter mile southeast. You can hear her excited yelps breaking through the morning haze like alarm signals in a fog-shrouded nightmare. Good morning, Carolynn.

So, what's your morning ritual?

Rabbit in the Rough