DOG AND PONY COFFEE SHOW

Every night my sleep is ruined by the same old thing...morning. In spite of closed eyelids, my brain recognizes the increase in light intensity and registers the avian alarms outside my windows. It's then that I crack open a lid and realize I have to pry myself out of bed to face yet another day. Gone are the mornings when I'd spring out of bed, rested, no aches. Now I groan as I roll to the side of the mattress and puuuush myself into a seated position. The cold hardwood beneath my feet seems to be yet another means of assisting with this daily coming back to reality. The vertebrae of my spine no longer freely flow but, instead, act more like a ratchet. I straighten up in increments...chick, chick, chick...ahhh, upright. Each day starts with an aching back. Lovely. Recently I realized I don't even stretch anymore. Our new dog, Mia, brought that fact home to me. She pops out of her crate, takes a few steps...just enough to allow me to get moving...then she stops. Dead. I should be expecting it, but my brain is still trying to go back to sleep. She bows and stretches her front legs, then takes a step forward while keeping her back paws cemented to the floor to stretch the rest of her little Mia Mouse body. Then, as I used to do before I, shall we say "matured", she zooms off down the hall, eyes shining with bright interest to see what her day will bring while I...plod...along behind her.

Out I go to the coat rack in the living room where the dog's leash hangs. The dog is already on the back porch, but noting my absence, she quickly returns to jump into the recliner for the customary "Attaching Of The Leash" ceremony. Mia is a small dog with an equally small collar. This small collar sports a tiny steel "D" ring meant to anchor the small clasp of the leash. In order to attach the clasp, I must grasp the little "D" ring. Uh huh. This is where the ceremony kicks in. Mia, usually in the recliner (so I don't have to bend my uncooperative back as far) looks like she's having a seizure while on a sugar high and all this taking place on ice. I begin to utter the sacred words of the ritual. "Hold still!" The dog weaves, the ring slips out of my fingers. "Mia, still! Stop hopping around. I can't get the damn leash on if you don't hold still for a millisecond!" I capture the elusive ring while repeatedly uttering, "Mia Sit!" And lo and behold, Mia sits...apparently on the only section of the recliner seat that has invisible lava seething hotly just below the surface. I can't tell which happens faster, the dog's butt touching the cushion or leaving it. The wrestling match continues until the leash is fastened, then it's through the living room, through the kitchen, past the coffee maker which beckons to me, out the back door, across the porch then out that door to the backyard.

I know that the first thing I usually have to do in the morning is hit the bathroom. Mia's been in her crate, which is a plastic cat carrier with a pillow, all night. She's smaller than the cat and the cat knows it. So does Mia. But I digress. She's been in her crate all night, so one could reasonably presume, she too, needs to empty her bladder. As soon as that doglet hits the back step outside the porch door, what does she want to do? Run. First thing in the morning, long before my joints begin to unstiffen, she wants to run! She has about fifteen feet of leash between her neck and my hand but that length gets played out to the fullest before I can even blink. First stop, the big maple at the side of the garage. At the base of this tree is where I stack the fallen branches from all the other trees in the yard. This is a weekly task and must be completed before mowing can take place. One thing this little dog has learned is that pile of branches has become a chipmunk condo. She fancies herself the mighty huntress. God forbid there's an animate object in the yard. Be it butterfly, bird, groundhog or the dreaded chippy, Mia will see it first and without warning take off at the velocity of a bullet leaving the muzzle of a high powered rifle. When this happens, I have a few choices. Her diminutive stature makes it very easy to just stand my ground and let her snap her neck when she runs out of slack. I'm afraid that's exactly what would happen, so that option's out. Small size notwithstanding, she packs a heck of a punch! So the next option is to let her jerk my arm. I'm still stiff and get rotator cuff tendonitis. I'd rather not risk aggravating my shoulder, so that's out too. But I have to be able to keep some slack in the leash to protect her spine, even at the cost of my own. Seems the only option left is...to run. Oh dear Lord! I don't run anymore unless my pants are on fire! Even then I'm thankful for the Stop, Drop, Roll rule. Sooo, each morning I'm running through some part of the yard, looking like an eight pound dog's dragging me and still she keeps the leash taut. If she sees a squirrel go up a tree, she goes bonkers whining, jumping and trying to climb the tree. Even after the squirrel is long gone from sight and she's made several circuits around the house, Mia remembers and will still return to that tree. Same with the chippy condo. She remembers, and has gone in far enough that only her little jug handle tail is sticking out. I'm afraid she'll poke her eye out on a branch some day. Anyway, after about fifteen or twenty minutes of exploration, only then will she take the time to relieve herself. Finally! Now I can go make coffee.

I don't know if it's the coffee that helps me wake up or that it's just part of my morning ritual. I have my coffee as I putter on the computer catching up on the news, playing a game, deleting junk mail. This is how I wake up. One would think the morning jaunt around the yard would do that, but I've had this wake up ritual longer than I've had Mia. I'm a creature of habit so I think it's the redundancy not the caffeine...and definitely not the dog. Some mornings I don't have to actually make the coffee, it's waiting for me as my wife made a pot before leaving for work. Other days she either didn't have time or I've gotten up first and therefore, the coffee making falls to moi. I'd really like to know who the sadistic SOB was who designed my coffee maker. It's manufactured by Black & Decker, that I know. But who designed it? What idiot thought it was a good idea to have an opening between the lid and the reservoir of the stupid thing? I raise the lid so the previous pot's grounds can be removed and replaced by four scoops of Folger's Simply Smooth (the best part of wakin' up according to the commercial) and twelve cups of water can be poured into the reservoir. And what happens? The condensation on the underside of the lid, copious amounts of water from the prior brewing, pours through the intentionally designed gap between lid and reservoir, down the back of the appliance and into puddles on the counter and beneath the previously mentioned appliance. Grab a paper towel, mop, wipe, blot. To make matters worse, the ninny designer put two oval HOLES in the back reservoir wall, near the top. I'm sure those are overflow holes, but come on! They're so small and so close to the top edge that if someone was stupid enough to pour in too much water, it would overflow the entire reservoir, not just ooze out those little holes. Now, once the basket of used grounds is removed, another water obstacle is encountered.

There is still water between the body of the basket opening and the basket. Take the basket out and that water trickles through the opening and onto the warming element. This usually requires a second paper towel as the first one, used to mop up the counter, is saturated. Yes, I do use Bounty, the quicker picker upper. Sooo, second paper towel, mop, wipe, blot...all clean and dry. Ahh, but the designer from hell isn't done tormenting me yet. You see, the coffee maker has this nice little feature of being able to remove the carafe before the full pot is done brewing. The flow ceases when the carafe is removed, enabling the user to pour a cup or two and resumes when the carafe is replaced. WRONG! Let me tell you, speed is of the essence when attempting this maneuver. You see, the flow may have ceased upon removal of the carafe, but the coffee maker's still pumping water through the grounds in the basket. Please take note. The basket fills quickly. Yep, you got it. Now, instead of water on the heating element, there's precious coffee. I have a large mug, a twenty ounce Harley-Davidson mug to be exact. If I pour fast, I can get the carafe back in place before the overflow occurs. Yet, here the evil design maniac has the last laugh. Have you ever tried to quickly pour something from a coffee maker carafe? I don't know if it's just me or if others have the same difficulty, but if I pour too fast, the liquid doesn't necessarily follow the contours of the glass. Come to think of it, even when I'm not pouring fast I have that problem. I can reuse the second paper towel...mop, wipe, blot...again! There is no doubt in my mind that whomever designed the coffee maker also designed the carafe. Either that or he had an equally warped twin who did the deed. I end up with coffee on the counter, on the floor, on my shoe, on the dog. I've actually taken to putting the mug on the side of the sink so I can hold the carafe over the sink and have the inevitable spillage land somewhere where I don't have to bend my ratchety old back to clean up.

So my mornings consist of running around the yard, looking like a zombie with rigormortis on a low dose of uppers and the mopping up operation after making coffee. Seems like Wheaties or Cheerios would be easier. Folgers...the best part of wakin' up my as...