My alarm clock

Hubby asked me last night if I knew why I always woke up at around the same time every morning.

"Yes, dear."

Then smiling, he proceeded to explain to me in great detail (Yes, dear, I know. Yes, dear. I know!) what I already knew, that he'd observed for the very first time that morning.

After spending most of my life rising long before the sun did, I promised myself that when I retired unless I decided there was sufficient reason for me to do so, I would never — and I mean never — see another sunrise. I have kept that promise.

I seldom hear Hubby's clock radio when it goes off at 6 ayem. On the few occasions I do, I sweetly suggest to him that he turn it off fast before I smash it and him.

Da Kid's alarm I never hear. As soon as it BLASTS he's out of bed slamming it into submission because he knows . . . well, he just knows he doesn't want to buy another new one. Like clockwork, he's up somewhere between 6:45 and 7:17 ayem and out of the house 20 minutes later.

As soon as Da Kid closes the door behind him, The Wonderdog tiptoes in. If there's enough room between me and the right-hand side of the bed, he creeps into it along side me with the slow-motion stealth (His record currently stands at almost five minutes.) any cat would envy.

The dead giveaway that The Wonderdog has accomplished his mission — and he still hasn't figured out how I know he's there — is that once he's lying down, he wants more room so he can stretch out on his side. That's when he starts trying to move me over by either slamming his butt against my back or if he has enough room to use his legs for traction, he uses them as propulsion to heave his entire, almost 90-pound body against it. Repeatedly.

If, on the other hand, I'm lying on my right side on the right edge of the bed, The Wonderdog first gently nuzzles my fingers. If that doesn't work, he then licks my hand with light, puppy-like kisses. If he still hasn't achieved his goal, his next step is batting my hand around with his nose or pushing his head under it.

No, he's not trying to wake me up. His hope, I know, is that asleep I'll simply roll away from the irritation and then he can begin the process of sneaking onto the right-hand side of the bed.

What about the wide-open left-hand side of the bed?

It's never entered Starbuck's mind to even try getting up on that side of the bed. His single-cell brain just doesn't function that way.