Creatures of Habit

Bill Cosby did a comedy special called “Himself” that was a collection of stories and experiences from raising his children and life in general. I have the DVD now, but as a kid, my mom had the cassette tape with the whole routine recorded on it. For you young folks out there, cassette tapes are to CD’s as VHS tapes are to DVD’s. Wait; you probably don’t know what a VHS tape is either. Look it up on Wikipedia.

At any rate, the tape was so funny that we played it over and over and over again until one day it mysteriously disappeared. My father claimed ignorance, but I am fairly sure he buried it in the back yard. One of the routines was called “The Same Thing Happens Every Night” in which Cosby chronicles the humorous events of the nightly routine with his three young children. Dinner time involved fooling around until Mom got sick of it and sent them to get ready for bed. Shower time involved children running through the house naked, wet, and screaming about being blinded for life due to shampoo in their eyes.  Kids fight, Mom gets mad, Dad sits back and stays quiet. The entire routine is hysterical, but this part always particularly touched my funny bone. If you’ve never seen the DVD, I would highly recommend it.

What got me started thinking about this is that dogs are very much creatures of habit, and I tend toward this behavior as well. Weekdays often blend together as the same rituals and routines are performed with mindless regularity. I suppose this makes life simpler and less stressful, and is a tribute to the ease of the routine which has become so habitual. What strikes me as funny is the tenacity to which the dogs insist upon following our routines, almost down to the minute.

The same thing happens every day.

Sometime prior to daylight: Buster’s alarm goes off and he silences it. At some point it goes off again. I shift about, half awake and half asleep as he struggles with the reality of actually having to get out of the bed. It is a difficult concept, but he arrives there eventually and rises. Generally he is thoughtful enough to perform a swap reminiscent of Indian Jones and the Temple of Doom, and I wake up later snuggling a pillow instead of him. The bedroom door creaks LOUDLY, the corgis are let out of the bathroom with a cacophony of jingling collars and exciting bouncing, and the baby gate letting out into our living room swings open and slams closed.

Buster leaves for work in the dark, and somehow I remain in a state of semi consciousness until my alarm goes off at 6:15.

I let Xander out of his crate and he escorts me to the bathroom. I am never allowed to be in there alone. With a great amount of bouncing and talking, the corgis greet me as I enter the living room. I slip on Buster’s shoes because although they are way too big, I am too lazy to untie my own. The corgis generally make the most noise and so get to go out first, but as I stumble out into the dark, the sound of Xander’s impatient barking follows me down the sidewalk. I am so sorry Mr. Upstairs Neighbor.

After Xander goes out, I head back to the bathroom to wash up and get dressed. At precisely 7:05 Kirby reminds me it is time to turn on the coffee maker and feed them. He trots into the bathroom, nub wagging, and “talks” to me in his little yodeling, part bark, part growl. He guides me into the kitchen and follows me to the door. We keep the dog food in our porch’s storage room, so he supervises as I open the blinds, turn on the light, and open the door. He is also present underfoot as I scoop the food in order to catch any morsels I happen to drop. Kaylee is always somewhere nearby, monitoring the entire process by spinning in circles and dancing on her back feet. Meanwhile, Xander is standing in the hallway behind the gate, in his “corgi safe eating zone,” barking in short, methodically timed intervals to notify me that he is prepared to eat.

After scooping the food, the corgis twirl underfoot on our way to the kitchen, and it is my difficult task to remain upright. Could I train an easier way to deal with the morning feeding? Sure, but I am a creature of habit and have never bothered. Besides, watching them inhale their food in 0.8 seconds is endlessly amusing. Xander takes slightly longer, hence the necessity for the gate dividing him from the ravenous hyenas.

After breakfast is served, I put on my shoes, pour my coffee into my travel mug along with enough sugar to sink a battleship, and head to the cookie jar. This is Kirby’s cue to dash into his spot in the bathroom and the other two to park themselves behind the baby gate. I feel bad having to keep them in small quarters during the day, however, there always manages to be some sort of collateral damage to my walls, carpets, or couch cushions if they are left wandering freely. They each receive a cookie for complying with this policy of confinement, and I leave them for a tedious nine hours.

I can only imagine what they do for nine hours each day, but I am choosing to believe it is sleeping and contemplating the nature of existence, and not nuisance barking or fussing with each other. Denial is a powerful thing.

When I return home in the evening, I am greeted with earsplitting barking. Dogs are wonderful because they are always happy to see you. They are not wonderful when they launch themselves at you like furry missiles. I worked persistently to teach Xander as a puppy never to jump up on me. Buster disagreed with that philosophy, so now I must shield myself from the 40lbs of crazed border collie which greets me every evening. He is flanked by two, 20lb corgi projectiles which barely register compared to him. It’s so nice to be loved.

Repeat the morning walking, barking, and feeding procedures, all done without fail immediately upon arriving home. No other activities are acceptable until this is accomplished. Afterwards, I am free to choose any method of entertaining them I deem fit. This may include driving across the street to the high school and illegally playing Frisbee in their football field, driving down the street to an Elementary School and illegally playing Frisbee on their playground, or going to the park down the street and illegally playing Frisbee in their baseball field. Sometimes we play in the “pet park” at my apartment, but since I am only supposed to have two dogs, I have to choose one of the corgis to stay behind. Also, the park has no drainage and is generally underwater from the poor placement of the sprinkler systems. And then there are the two days a week I make the 40 minute trek to the agility field for class or for practice. Those are their favorite days.

And with minor variations, including the occasions we get to hang out with Buster, that is our life. Wash, rinse, repeat. The dogs always remind me to focus on the important things in life. Eating regular meals, getting frequent exercise, and always being happy to see the people you love.

The same thing happens every day, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.