Here is my morning: I wake up. The alarm is either hours from going off, or it hasn't been set at all, or I've been hitting the snooze bar for forty minutes. I'd like to get out of bed, really I would, but there is a cat sleeping on my hair, and Doc nestles himself up against my leg. It's very warm here.

Eventually I toss the covers onto Doc, extricate myself from the cat, and venture into the bathroom to pee, get dressed, and locate my glasses. Mochi emerges from wherever she slept -- usually her bed on the floor of my room, but more recently she's been sleeping on the sofa in the living room, I think to be closer to Jeremy. She is a morning dog, which works out fine for me, and while I get dressed, she scampers around the bathroom, pouncing on cats and chasing her tail. She's glad we're done with all that useless sleeping.

Doc is not a morning dog, or an evening dog, or even a middle-of-the-afternoon dog. He'd like to go back to sleep. In fact, he wishes we'd turn out that light and knock off the racket. I used to give him space in the morning; I'd immediately shoo Mochi outside, and then feed the cats and make my coffee and have my breakfast and feed Mochi and write a journal entry, and then, at around the time I'd be taking coffee to Jeremy and getting in the shower myself, Doc would finally wake up and get out of bed. Even then, it was only to shuffle outside to take care of business, and then he'd amble into Jeremy's room where he could go back to sleep in peace.

We do things differently these days. Now I go straight to the living room, where I sit on the floor, and Mochi takes a running dive and collapses in my lap. I pet her ears and she licks my face, and then we hear a loud thump and the hardwood floors tremble a little, and we know that Doc has gotten out of bed. He lumbers into the living room, yawning and tail-wagging very slowly. He looks really big in the mornings. He looks like a very sleepy, very creaky old pig. Mochi leaps out of my lap to greet him, and he takes the opportunity to plant his enormous butt in my lap. He's so big that when he sits on my lap his head is three feet away from me, but he doesn't care. It's morning, and he's a lap dog, and as soon as he wakes up he will stretch his head around like a dinosaur, and he will lick my face until I beg for mercy.

Mochi scampers and dives and kisses and rolls; Doc yawns and stretches and wags, still very slowly. I hug and pet and deflect and yawn; I scratch bellies and say blech when a stray tongue gets too close to my nose or mouth. I am covered in 150 pounds of dog.

Sometimes it's half an hour before I get my coffee, but that's okay. It takes a lot of time to deal with this much dog.

God, I love my dogs. I love the way they're nice to each other, the way they greet one another first thing in the morning. Doc stretches out on the edge of the bed, still mostly asleep, his tail wagging very slowly, and Mochi reaches up from her bed on the floor. He yawns; she sticks her entire head into his mouth. They lick each other around the nose and eyes, and then Mochi snuffles Doc in the ear. She sighs; he yawns. It's true love.

I also love the way they're jealous of one another, the little dog dramas they can construct out of a chew bone, an empty Colgate box, and the cardboard from a roll of toilet paper. Here is a very typical scene:

Doc is on the bed, worrying a chew bone. Mochi is on her bed on the floor, looking forlorn. Poor Mochi. Not only does she have to sleep on the floor; she doesn't have anything upon which to chew. (Because she didn't get up and go to the toy box, where there are plenty more chew bones. Just so you don't feel too sorry for her.) I am brushing my teeth.

Mochi: I bet I could get that chew bone. He may be big, but he's not very smart.

Me (sensing danger, thinking quickly): Hey, Moch, would you like this here, uh, empty toothpaste box?

Mochi: Oh, my, yes! That would be lovely. Ha ha ha. Doc has no empty toothpaste box, and I could have that chew bone if I really wanted it. Thus, I win. I am Mochi! Queen of the Puppies! Mmmm, cardboard.

Doc (to himself, looking at Mochi): How come she has cardboard? All I have is this dumb bone. I hate that dog.

Doc (to me): Arrr uh arrrrnhhh.

Me: I know, dude. I feel your pain.

Doc (to Mochi): Arrr uh arrrrnhhh.

Mochi: Go fuck yourself.

Doc: Mmmmph. I hate my chew bone.

Me (sensing sadness, starting not to care, still thinking quickly): Dude, here's an empty toilet paper roll. You love those.

Doc: I love those. Give me. Mmm, cardboard.

Mochi: What the fuck? I am Mochi! Queen of the Puppies! I will have ALL the cardboard!

Doc (sensing that his toilet paper roll is no longer in his mouth): I am very sad. Mmmmph.

Doc (spying Mochi's discarded Colgate box): Maybe she won't notice.

Mochi (noticing, jumping on the bed): Oh, I don't think so. Ah, and what is this I see? A chew bone! The chew bone of Doc! Mochi, Queen of the Puppies, shall have all the toys!

Mochi (chewing on chew bone, laying on top of an empty Colgate box and a very wet empty roll of toilet paper): It's good to be the Queen.

Doc: Arrr uh arrrrnhhh.

Doc's life is very hard indeed. You just don't know.

Okay, the dogs have a 'blog. I resisted calling it "The Dog 'Blog," mostly because I hate the word "'blog." So swipe that title if you need it.

Anyway ... this won't really be a weblog, just a place for me to put the cute puppy photos and stories when the mood hits me. I'll note any additions to this section on the front page, so you don't need to bookmark this separately -- unless, that is, the only part of my life that interests you is what my dogs are up to.

Some people have asked if the cats will be making special appearances. Not until they clean up their act and stop shitting on the floor, they won't.

We've just kicked Doc off the bed because of some behavior problems. He's fine when he's on the bed, for the most part, but he's having some difficulty remembering who's the boss around here, so for now he's sleeping in the living room with Mochi. But both dogs are invited up on Sunday mornings:

I've never known two dogs who cuddled together as much as these two do.

Of course, it usually degenerates into ear-biting, but for a short time this morning, they were actually spooning. It was nauseatingly cute.

Oh, yeah, Mochi looks so innocent, but you should see the scabs on Doc's head. She's a vicious little thing.

You know, we think we understand, but we don't. We come home from work all tired and grumpy and ready to crash, and we expect the dogs to be happy and lively and glad to see us. We don't understand how much work it is, this being a dog.

Why, I bet Doc got off that bed three, maybe even four times in the course of the day. A dog needs his rest, damn it.