Time to rise and shine

There’s nothing more jarring than to be awakened in the way-too-early hours of the morning (3:32 a.m. to be exact) by a happy little yappity-yap puppy dog who has the frantic need to lick every bit of skin off of your left ear.

And do I hide under the covers hoping she’ll go away until I can smell the coffee brewing from the kitchen? Yes, I do. But 3:32 is way too early in the morning to expect that glorious aroma to waft through the house, so I just try to go back to sleep, and hope I don’t oversleep.

My grandfather was always the first one up, and he always had the coffee brewing in the percolator before sunrise. I didn’t drink coffee then, but the smell of it made it oh so easy to get out of bed and head out to the river to try and catch a trout or two before breakfast. Of course, I never caught a trout or two before breakfast because fish aren’t stupid. At that time of the morning, they are still in their beds, dreaming of catching mayflies while floating along on a current of silver sunlight.

I’d fish from the bank of the river, breathing out cold steam, my fingers and nose half frozen, and only head back inside when the sun finally peeked over the mountains and whispered, “Boy, you’re just plain dumb. Go home and don’t come back until these fish are good and awake.” I’d traipse back to the cabin, my shoes wet from the morning dew, and warm up by the fire while my grandfather drank his coffee.

“So, how many did you catch THIS morning?”

“Not a one.”

“You want a cup of coffee?”

“I don’t think so.”

My wife usually makes the coffee in our house. Ten scoops strong. Strong enough to jump out of the cup, throw you to the ground and smash you with a Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson “People’s Elbow” and then laugh about it. I thought about buying us a percolator ( for good times’ sake), but the overwhelming majority of percolator reviewers indicate buying one would just produce weak coffee and be a waste of good coffee beans. My wife hates weak coffee and wasting coffee beans.

I hate wasting time. It’s precious. In fact, I can actually feel time slipping by. The feeling mostly manifests itself when I’m cooking. I can put a meatloaf in the oven, set the timer for 55 minutes, walk away from the kitchen and go mow the yard, take a shower, read a chapter or two of a book, and somehow, magically, when I feel enough time has slipped by (I literally get an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach), I go back to the kitchen and look at the timer. More often than not, it’s usually just then counting down to zero – and the meatloaf ’s done.

I can even wake up on time in the morning, never needing to set my alarm. (I learned how to do it many years ago, and here’s the secret: right as you are trying to fall asleep, you repeat to yourself, “I need to get up at 5 a.m. Exactly at 5 a.m. Not 4:45 or 5:15, 5 a.m., on the dot, etc., etc.). The only time it backfires is 1) when I’m really tired; 2) when I’m having an awesome dream about trying to catch rainbow trout in the San Juan Mountains of Colorado; or 3) when I’ve been mauled at 3:32 a.m. by a dog that’s trying to lick every bit of skin off of my...

Holy Cow, I’ve overslept! Where did the time go? I’m thinking the dog ate it.