Sam usually gets up in the morning to take Grr out. Often, I sleep right through it. Sometimes, I have the potential, the opportunity to wake up if I really tried, but I don't, and I more or less sleep right through it.
I know that it is unfair to always make Sam get up, even though I never directly make him. He just does it, keeps his ever-vigilant watch over Grr's activities, even in sleep. He is a true mother, the kind who says she has eyes on the back of her head, and then actually seems to. He sleeps with one eye open and is always aware of Grr's potential for trouble.
I, on the other hand, have quickly learned to tune out everything that stands between my waking hours and my non-waking ones. Everything, that is, but guilt. On the nights when I do hear Grr land softly on the hardwood and I feel Sam get out of bed, I always know that I should get up and at least offer to be the one to carry our 30-pound dog out to the sidewalk. (Ridiculous as it may seem, he just can't be trusted to not pee in the hallway in an effort to avoid going outside.) Even if Sam is still ultimately the one who does it, at least I should offer, right?
This morning around five o'clock, I felt Grr lift his head. I opened my eyes just slightly and saw him looking out over the railing and through the window onto the street. At any minute, then, I knew he would make a fuss, jump off the bed, wake Sam and they'd both go out.
Though I was aware of this, I was hardly alert, much less awake, but I did have enough wits gathered about me to debate whether I should get up or not. This morning, after all, was the first morning of a long-awaited weekend (as they all are, I guess), and though I could (and definitely would) come right back to bed after Grr was done, there was just something great about staying in bed, not moving, being lazy.
But then I felt Grr stand up. (The debate raged on: should I abandon my warm spot, the one I had incubated all night?) He started scratching himself. (And what a comfortable position I found, with my neck nestled in the pillow just right, and my hand resting on my chest like so!) And finally, he walked to the edge of the bed and hopped off. (Could I give all of this up in exchange for a cold, harsh morning on the sidewalk?)
Then Sam lifted his head. I was completely 50/50 on whether I should get up, or if I could feign sleep and just let him do it. He does it every other morning anyway; why not today?
But then I got this random (and inspired, if I do say so) idea: if I get up and take him out, I will feel like a better pet owner, and certainly a better boyfriend for letting Sam sleep. This will be a good feeling to write about today on the blog, for which I had no other topic in mind.
So with resolve and intent, I put my glasses on, said, "I got him" with the most authoritative voice I could muster. You know, the one that wants to be recognized for the effort but also downplay the fact that this is the first time I've exhibited this effort all week.
The whole thing took all of five minutes, and we were back in bed. My spot was still warm, and the morning not nearly as harsh. The last thought to flash through my head before falling asleep again was, "Whew! Not only am I a good boyfriend today, but the blog is all but written!"
(Though I did accidentally slam the door on our way out, something Sam never does. And I also forgot to bring my keys, so as soon as we left the main building's front door, we were locked out, necessitating a call to Sam from the call box, which meant that he had to get up and find his phone.
So maybe I'm just an alright boyfriend then, but the blog still only took 25 minutes. Win!)
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