Waiting for real life to begin

Like any good personal trainer, Milou’s systematic barking instructs me to pick up the pace.

The only thing that will quiet him now is getting out for our morning run.

He is fully aware that unless I want to incur the wrath of our neighbors at this early hour, we best get moving.

He was not only mon fidele ami, but also the most affordable coach in Paris.

Food, bones, water and the occasional plush toy to destroy was all he required.

We run along La Seine until we reach Madame Dutertre’s Patisserie du Chiens. Milou won’t move an inch before Madame gives him his treat.

We run along La Seine until we reach Madame Dutertre’s Patisserie du Chiens.

Milou won’t move an inch before Madame gives him his treat.

He inhales his doggie energy bar and off he goes.

I’m left exchanging pleasantries with Madame as she attempts to improve my poor French pronunciation.

He must cross La Seine at Pont Des Invalides at approximately 7:25 AM so he can exchange sniffs with his girlfriend, Anjou.

Once we’re home, he demands his breakfast and recital.

After devouring his café et croissant, he settles in to the chair by the piano and signals that the performance can begin.

I play my usual repertoire and then whatever popular music that comes to mind.

The performance is barely over before it’s back to bed for him, it’s as simple as that.

All that whining and barking to get started was just so he could get right back to where he began a mere two hours earlier.

Every day we would obsessively complete this two-hour routine.

He seemed to be acutely aware of the importance of it and understood his role in it.

It would take me years to identify and accept that pattern in my own life.