Harley the Dog was troubled by something last night. He paced and grumbled and woofed and at one point, he hid under the bed. I could not locate the issue of his woes, though the street sweeper did come through and he hates the street sweeper. Thing is, he’d been up for hours, woken me multiple times over the course of the night to warn me of… something. He wouldn’t go outside, he wouldn’t settle with me, nothing would calm him. Finally, around 3am, he let me wrap him tight in his blanket and we both got a little bit of sleep.
So I look lousy this morning, the circles under my eyes are darker than usual. I have work to do, thankfully, it’s not stuff I need to meet in person to complete, and we are going on an adventure, which means I have to put my sleep deprived self behind the wheel of a car and that is not ideal. But here I am at 54, sleepy, in the company of my stalwart and somewhat neurotic companion, facing the day, the year.