2 a.m.

It is two in the morning and I am awakened by a wet-nosed dog. I look at my watch and groan. She wants to go out. Her usual schedule was disrupted by the bi-weekly irrigation which flooded both of our yards and although she sleeps on the floor next to my wife's side of the bed, she is savvy enough to know that any chores will go to dad, the elderly retainer. My wife sleeps or feigns sleep. [I think I detect a small smile.]

I get up, grab my glasses and some slippers, and shuffle to the patio. The dog wanders out to her new favorite spot and studies the magnetic field, the stars, and the condition of the ground. This takes a while. I am patient, grateful that she just doesn't want to play.

The mission accomplished, we go back inside to the kitchen where I dry her paws with some marginal hand-towels which the Chinese sell to credulous Americans. Around here they are car-towels and paw-towels. They do the job. The young dog happily trots off to bed. The old dog shuffles back.

Sleep is truly under-rated.