Harold and I are the early risers of the bunch. Everyone else likes very much to sleep in and would probably sleep until noon if I didn’t make them wake up.
Mornings here are my favorite part of the day. The sun rises around 6am year-round, which is a perfect time to wake up and have a slow morning to myself (plus Harold) before the rest of the family wakes up. On the mornings where the sun doesn’t wake me up, Harold’s lip smacking will. We have a morning routine, just he and I; and I think it’s his favorite part of the day, tambien. After the lip smacking it evolves to loud yawns and groans, thumping of the tail against the wall as he sits on my bedside and stares at me.
“Ok bubbers, I’m up now.” Once I say that and sit up, his excitement escalates very quickly. I have to get up and dressed in seconds. Otherwise, he will groan and moan and downward-dog until the entire building is awake, and I like this time to myself!
In order for dogs to get to the beach, they must go through the parking garage to a lower entrance that spits us out past the pools but before the ocean. Harold does a good job not sprinting through the garage even though I can tell he wants to, because I have only been awake maybe 5 minutes at this point. Once we get outside the garage, he has a very specific shrub that he likes to pee on. Every morning the same shrub, I don’t know how it’s still alive. But it’s definitely his shrub. While he does this, I peek through the gates to make sure the beach is quiet and empty (our favorite). I take this time to assess the tide, because that can drastically change our morning walk.
We zigzag around the pool to the gate. I make him walk with me on a leash until we get to where the waves meet the sand. ‘Finally!’ he must think. When I unclip him he runs about 20 feet away from me and immediately poops in the ocean. If other people are on the beach I shake my head and look surprised, but honestly, I’m not. I don’t know why he likes to shit in the ocean, it’s a very bizarre thing, but he now won’t poop anywhere else. When he comes running back to me, I always tell him, “good job”.
I walk near the waves where the sand is slightly more firm. I watch the sunrise each morning, I note where the fishing boats are (so that I don’t swim there later..I cannot stand the thought of fish swimming around me), I listen to the waves crashing. Then when I get to the rocks at the end, I turn around. While I have my morning zen, Harold usually runs around like a maniac. He chases birds, goes for a swim, sprints directly at other morning dog walkers (which is terrifying to them but he just sniffs and then sprints directly back to me), he rolls in the sand, pounces near hermit crabs. He is living his best life.
Harold and I now have our favorite dogs and humans that we run into some mornings. There is a sweet little dog who gets really scared when Harold runs at her then she remembers him just in time for him to lose interest and come back to me. We also met some of our good friends, Nathan and Louise, through our morning walks. Occasionally, Garrett will surprise me and come with us. Those mornings are the best. I never thought I would like doing anything before coffee, but Harold and my ritual convinced me otherwise.
the eventually home 