I am completely defeated by the morning. One snow storm after another, and that red banner announcing dire travel conditions never leaves my version of The Weather Channel website. After the storm, there is ice, then slush, then mud, and then, a storm again. It is a real test of character to leave the warm nest of my bed. Especially when Watson, see, Watson has adjusted to his new life in New York.
Gone are the mornings when I stir, and then feel, immediately, the full bouncing weight of a Watson who is SO EXCITED it is DAYTIME. I get up because I am going to be late, and not because Watson is standing on my head. No Watson to follow me into the kitchen to make tea, no Watson at my feet while I brush my teeth. Instead, Watson has decided that he will keep Conor-time — and Conor-time says the day does not start for at least another hour. They lay together, rumpled and askew, and I can’t really hold it against them. Much.
To mitigate my snow-and-morning feelings, Conor sends me joyful pictures of our strange and funny Watson in his new routine. Daytime snoozing, moose rampage in the park, fresh bread, and king of Couch Mountain. Nothing calls Watson to the kitchen quicker than the crackle of crust from a new loaf of bread. Librarianing away in my warm office, I am a little jealous and a lot cheered.
Love is partly, I think, being really happy that your puppy and your person are having snacks and naps, even when you are not there. Love is partly, at least, taking a stray girl and her dog into your home and feeding them toast. Love is definitely, though, waiting to watch House of Cards together.