Hair bristling. Tail erect. My faithful companion goes bounding out the backdoor for her 5 a.m. bathroom break. Every corner of the yard is carefully inspected for the errant feline, nocturnal squirrel, or creature of the night. A sinking feeling overcomes me as Maggie then begins to bark loudly. "Crap," I will mutter. "The neighbors are going to hate me." Luckily, this fit of canine insanity soon passes.
Business is finally done. The grass is scratched exuberantly in a show of canine cockiness and bravado. "Look at me! I can pee! And this is my yard!" Maggie seems to broadcast. Our final bounding leads us through the backdoor as I lean down upon one knee to rub and congratulate her. "I love you, girl," I say as I scratch her back and she licks me upon my face and wiggles like a wiggly worm. This happens every morning and never fails to make me smile. I don't know what I would do without my faithful canine companion.