Something better than a New Year’s Resolution

I am not a morning person. My morning routine is lie in bed, check Facebook, note the friends who have already posted, “Just came back from a 7-mile run. The light at dawn is so lovely!” and think, I should do that. And then go back to sleep for another 15 minutes. Hey, I stayed up late watching Jon Stewart — I need my rest! New Year’s came and went — I didn’t even pretend I was going to change my ways.Then Lucy arrived.My friend had been in the hospital for two days when I got a call from her neighbor: “I let Lucy out and she won’t come back. I can’t deal with this.” When I got to the apartment a few hours later Lucy had returned, trembling in the pouring rain, waiting for someone to come home. She followed me around as I gathered up her bed, food, leash and treats, and willingly got in the car with me. Lucy is a Welsh Corgi, long of body and short of leg, with shaggy red fur and golden eyes, and she is the gentlest, quietest creature I’ve ever met. She quickly figured out that I was her person, at least for now, and follows me everywhere, including to work, where everyone stops to give her a belly rub or scratch her ears. She sleeps in her dog bed or behind my chair. She’d sleep on my bed if I let her, but instead she has a blanket at the foot of it. She ignores the cats completely. (They, however, haven’t quite gotten used to her yet. They spent the first day cowering inside the basement door, at least for the moment overcoming their enmity of each other in solidarity against the intruder. My 11-year-old observed that it was like how the Russians helped the Jews in World War II — a temporary alliance.)All that gentleness and docility disappears at dawn, however. Since my older daughter started high school last September, I’ve had no trouble sleeping through her preparations and sometimes don’t even make it downstairs to say hello before she leaves for the bus at 7:10 a.m. But once Lucy sees that it’s wake-up time, she think it’s wake-up time for everybody. She’s polite at first — she doesn’t come bursting into my room or anything. But I hear her clicking down the stairs to see if anyone there will take her outside, then back up the stairs to check on me again. And as soon as I start to stir, the wiggling, the whimpering, the bouncing, the leaping, the barking. Oh, the barking.u u uSo out we go, as the sky is just beginning to brighten. Down the block, around the corner. It’s not just a morning pee she wants, it’s a morning run. (My friend usually just lets her loose, but I don’t trust that she won’t just disappear and try to get back to Cheshire, where she usually lives. Plus, she might chase my chickens. Plus, Sharon has a leash law.)The first day, trying to keep up with her, I fell on the ice and banged up my shoulder and hips. She waited patiently for me to get to my feet, and we were off again. The second day, she wasn’t satisfied with just going down to the Green and back — we had to keep going. It’s weird, walking with a dog — she wants to go at breakneck pace for a minute, then stop and sniff everything, pee on everything, then take off running again. (“Interval training!” says my smart 11-year-old). I’ve gotten more exercise in the last week than I had in the last couple of months. As an added bonus, the 11-year-old does the after-dinner walk — she whose preferred form of exercise is hoisting the iPad onto the couch. Two weeks ago, after a snowstorm, I said to her, “You’re a kid, don’t you want to go play in the snow?” “I’m a tween,” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm, and returned to her game of Minecraft. Now, she’s racing down the street with Lucy, dodging the fat snowflakes and teaching her to fetch.I don’t know how long Lucy will be with us. Maybe a week, maybe two — I hope my friend recovers quickly and can reunite with her best friend. By the time you read this she may already be back home. But I don’t want to go back to my slothful ways. Being a morning person — a dog person — feels good. I want to be that person who gets up and out, who has roses in her cheeks and a spring in her step from all that fresh morning air. Besides, Jon Stewart can wait, but those dogs at Little Guild and the SPCA shelter can’t. When Lucy goes home, another dog will be coming home with me.Jenny Hansell lives in Sharon with her husband, two daughters, two cats and eight chickens. She reviews dance for Compass, blogs at SharonCTDailyphoto.blogspot.com and is the director of the North East Community Center in Millerton.