I wake to my little dog vigorously wagging her tail and trying to reach my arm with her wet nose.
It is 3 am. I realize through sleepy haze that she needs to go outside to do her business. Urgently. I stumble out of bed and house and then stand under moonlight while she frantically paces the yard, desperate to find the perfect spot.
We do this again at 4 am and 5 am. And once again before I go to work. At my desk, I am grateful for coffee. Big steamy cups of it that I inhale all day long through giant yawns.
I ponder whether this is what it means to be “dog tired” – but then I figure that maybe only my dog must be this nutty about her biological functions.