Tripod

“Fuck.”

I make no apologies for how I greet each day. I’ve never been great at mornings.

Ammo, my three-legged border collie has sensed my movements and is chewing on my hand. My personal no-snooze alarm.

He needs to go out. I need to pee and go back to dreaming.

Cold water on my eyes surfaces my mind into semi-wakefulness. Ammo’s expectant gaze follows me from the bathroom to my closet.

His whole body wags as he climbs into my lap preventing me from lacing up my boots. He doesn’t know that he’s getting in the way of his own bathroom break. His puppyhood holds hundreds of paradoxes like these.

He never seems to mind.

I pet his whole body with my hands. Showing me his belly, he nips at my massaging fingers. A smile crosses my lips. The first of the day.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

He’s to the door whimpering before I’ve finished the sentence.

17 stairs and a storm door separate my forgotten slumber and the below zero cold.

Reheated coffee from yesterday warms my hands as I watch Ammo’s twitchy body slide around the yard. He’s smiling and flipping snow with his nose.

“Go to the bathroom! I’m freezing!”

He knows the command by now, and becomes focused. Fluidly circling the yard, he searches for his favorite spot to mark, autographing the back corner as his own.

Inside, fresh coffee warms my brain and body as Ammo munches happily on his breakfast.

Watching his tail wag back and forth above his hind leg reminds me to be grateful.

Three months ago, mornings were much harder.

Three months ago, Ammo wasn’t here.

Three months ago, neither was I.