Doug Bruns

Posts Tagged ‘mornings’

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Where the Fore River meets Casco Bay.

In Dogs, Life, Memoir, Nature on July 6, 2012 at 6:00 am

Sunrise, Eastern Prom, Portland

The bedroom window faces across the water due east, where the Fore River enters Casco Bay. In the winter, when the sun is late rising, I watch it come up over Bug Light in South Portland. This time of year, though, the sun is up early–5:35 this morning–and I usually miss it. Morning sun is a draw I usually can’t resist. The gulls don’t seem to be able to resist either and like water-borne roosters shout and caw at its arrival. This morning one screamed, I swear, right next to the bedroom window and in my half slumber, I thought someone was being throttled.

This morning the bedroom filled with amber light, low-angled and dappled by the water, and so I rose to it smiling. Maggie jumps off her bed when she hears me sit up. Carole and I joke that she can sense my eye-lids opening. She stretches Sphinx-like, letting out a little squeal. Then she flaps her ears, ready to get rolling. Even at nine years, she’s like a puppy in the morning, hardly able to contain herself. I know exactly how she feels.

We went to the Eastern Prom this morning, as we do most mornings. Early is better, if you like solitude with your coffee. Letting Maggie off leash, we stroll and explore. I like to stop on the bluff and look over the water toward Peaks Island and Little and Big Diamond. When I do, I remind myself not to take this for granted. It appears to me that all mornings are special, but some more than others. If the sacred is to be discovered, I bet it can be–or is, for some–best discovered in the morning.

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I’m on the road this week–family reunion, holiday, etc. This is a repost. It first appeared in April, 2010. Thanks for reading.

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Maggie

In Dogs, Life, Wisdom on June 9, 2010 at 12:58 pm

The Magster

How is it that Maggie, my ten-year old Vizsla, is so excited every morning upon waking up? She’s not a puppy any more, but you wouldn’t know it at 6:00 am, with the sun streaming in and the gulls screeching. As soon as I move, she leaps from her bed and throws herself on the floor at my bedside. She rolls over and arches her back, twisting. Then she rights herself, stretches, squeals, and rolls over again. I struggle to get out of bed amidst her bounding and cavorting. Lastly, she rises, braces her legs in support and flaps her ears. Lately she has taken to letting out a deep resounding howl, as if to announce to the world that she has risen. It is all, frankly, annoying. But learning by repetition can be very annoying, can’t it?

By that I mean, every morning, rain or shine, Maggie performs her routine at my feet. All that excitement and enthusiasm and joy. Every morning that lesson gets drilled into me. You must see where I’m going here. Who musters such happiness at the prospect of every single day? Really, who? My dog, that’s who. Life should be so simply learned as to watch our dogs and emulate them. Unconditional love, curiosity, loyalty, boundless joy. (Yes, I’m only listing the good stuff, not the chewed shoes, the ruined carpet, the surprise in the closet.) And the current lesson: a canine reminder, carpe diem. I’m a slow learner. Maggie’s a good teacher. And her work is not yet done.