Since yesterday\’s post about the citrus trees, I\’ve had Versailles on my mind. I\’ve been thinking about the morning ceremony known as le lever du Roi, when the highest nobles in the land, having intrigued for the privilege for years, would awaken the King and offer the kinds of services that, in our day and age, are tendered only to incapacitated inmates of nursing homes.
Although I get out of bed with a lot less hoopla than le Roi Soleil my mornings are not entirely devoid of ritual. I\’m talking about the Rite of Socks, which involves me, the two dogs, and my chaussettes.
Every morning while I get dressed Wolfie lies down on the rug between the bed and my dresser. When I sit on the edge of the bed with my socks in my hand, Bisou comes running, throws herself on her back on the rug next to Wolfie, and does a frantic snake dance. Then she rights herself and, growling fiercely, starts to nibble Wolfie\’s lip. This causes Wolfie to open his mouth wide and break into a high-pitched yodeling, which gives Bisou the opportunity to put her entire head inside his mouth.
\”Gentle!\” I caution, seeing those saber-tiger teeth flash close to Bisou\’s eyes, but the dogs are too far gone to hear me. As Bisou\’s nipping continues, Wolfie\’s yodels rise in pitch and her growls descend a couple of scales. Between the two of them I can barely hear myself think. When he can\’t take it any more, Wolfie rolls on his back and does his version of the snake dance, snapping his jaws for accompaniment. This is the point where I have to make sure I keep my bare toes out of the way.
Then suddenly the frenzy abates. Bisou, seeing that I now have both socks on, throws herself at me, ears flapping, tongue hanging out, \”Are we going out? Are we going out? Are we going out right now?\” As she rushes headlong down the stairs Wolfie flops down on the rug. I flop back on the bed. We both need a minute to catch our breath.
i can just see all of this! i love morning rituals. doug walks riley early, i sleep in, and when doug and riley leave rosie usually runs upstairs and leaps on the bed and drapes herself across me. except this morning: doug forgot something and came right back and caught her in the act of —- standing at the counter, trying to eat the butter.
What! You mean Rosie doesn't go bonkers about being left behind? She must love you a lot.
Tyke waits patiently while I get dressed and doesn't get excited until I put my boots on. That's when he starts pacing back and forth between me and the hallway. All in all he's a well behaved little guy, but then he doesn't gave to compete with another dog for my attention. I think that may make a difference.
In the predawn semi-darkness I pad barefoot through the house and release my dog from her crate. She follows close to my heels as I throw her (always wet) bedding in the washing machine, then check the yard and skies for predators before allowing 5-pound Juliet out the front door. This morning she chased a huge deer before returning, the victor. Why is it that when sleeping in our bed she can hold her bladder all night long, but in the crate she wets? Because she can!
The boots do it for Tyke, the socks for Bisou. Rereading Colette tonight, I read that her dog would go crazy whenever she screwed the top onto her fountain pen.
Oh, Juliet, Juliet! Who can tell what lies in the hearts and bladders of tiny dogs?(Have you tried taking away her water bowl after 7 p.m.?)