Saturday Morning

A wet-nosed dog awakens me. She sits by the bed, awaiting attention. I mutter to my wife, "Has the dog been fed?" No reply. I get up and, accompanied by the noble dog, wander through the house. No wife. Ah, but then I spy her, outside in the front yard thinning a hedge. I'd meant to get to that. Leaving the dog inside to avoid undue craziness, I stroll out. Mary Ann's happy. She decided to do some outside chores before the sun moves in. Not wishing to spoil a good thing, I return to the house and feed the dog. The dog eats as if wolves are going snatch away the food. I peek into the back yard. The hummingbird is on her nest on top of the patio light. 

Later, I will need to put gasoline in the mower and then return to the yard but a slice of rye bread and a cup of coffee beckon. Some bacon? Perhaps. 

The temperature is expected to hit 100 degrees on Sunday but we take that in stride. 

Early mornings are nice.