Musing: Night and Day

What a glorious morning! Watched the sunrise peeking over the trees as I leisurely sipped a cup of coffee, the dogs darting about the yard taking care of business. Ate my usual bowl of oatmeal, hooked leashes onto canines, and struck out for our early walk.

The dogs’ tails wagged enthusiastically. Their noses sniffed the cool air excitedly, hunting for the scent of deer or bear. Their perked ears rotated like radar to home in on the sound of squirrels scampering among the leaves.

Oh, sure, we’re still picking our way around trees downed by Hurricane Helene, but we were able to safely saunter down the trail.

Compare that to yesterday. We stumbled through the dark like drunken sailors returning from shore leave, tripping over fallen branches and running into invisible spider webs. Unseen creatures crashed through the brush as our flashlights searched the murkiness to identify our stalkers. And, of course, the dogs picked the deepest shadows to leave the deposits that we needed to gingerly retrieve.

Yes, the difference between the two mornings was night and day. Literally. We celebrate the end of Daylight Saving Time and the return of light for our first walk of the day.

Now, now. I can hear the discontented grumbling. “Must be nice to enjoy the morning light while some of us have to commute home in the dark, too late to enjoy any outdoor activities.”

Fair point. I hear you, but you have to understand. I work from home. My commute is nothing but a perilous journey between my study and the kitchen. Rush hour comprises dodging dogs and the thundering of paws as they race for breakfast. A traffic jam occurs when one of them has picked an inopportune place to nap, requiring a reroute of my trip without the need to consult a GPS.

And, I’ll freely admit, I’ve reached a point in my life that I revel in the old Benjamin Franklin saying, “Early to bed, early to rise.” By 9 pm, I’m stretched across my bed reading a good book, with at least one dog ensconced in the bed beside me, softly snoring. It’s not unusual to find me reading again by 3 or 4 in the morning, my surroundings looking and sounding much the same with the canine snores still rumbling.

But once everyone stirs, the start of the day holds such promise. A fresh day to write. To meet unfamiliar people. To find unprecedented adventures. Mornings are a beginning, the birth of novel opportunities. What could be better than celebrating such infancy than a little light coming from the heavens?

Besides, the shifting of the clock from Daylight Saving Time to Standard Time brings one thing we all can agree on—one extra hour of sleep or laziness in bed. Because the hands of the clock fall back one hour, we gain that glorious, comfortable, warm extra time under the blankets.

Except my celebration has one tiny flaw. Dogs can’t tell time. The paw pokes and face licks began an hour early by human time, though at the correct canine time. Why aren’t we up? Why aren’t we already in the backyard? Why aren’t we getting ready to walk?

Yes, some of us, via a wet nose to the face, are reminded that in the grand cosmic scheme of things, time is relative, breakfast is absolute, and dogs are the true masters of our daily schedules.

At least I can see where I’m stepping to avoid a cosmic surprise.