My Morning Ritual (Prompt: Morning)

The ritual starts the same way:

My first thoughts
are always scrambled:
part disappearing dream,
part beeping alarm clock,
and part soundtrack
to whatever tv show
is playing on the set
that was left on
as a lazy night light.

I hear the tip-tip-tip
of Yorkie claws scratching
on the laminate floor
as Sadie the cat
drags her paw
across our closed bedroom door,
and makes
a slow, torturous scrape,
her mute petition
for admission.

The dogs want out
and the cat wants in,

I’m barely awake
and I’m already playing
zookeeper.

I escort the dogs
out to the backyard
and I breathe in the
sweet and sharp
cold morning.

God hears
my silent prayers
of gratitude,
and my mind scans
the coming day:
it thinks in terms of
appointment blocks
in Microsoft Outlook.

I ask
“please help me be
a good man, and
please watch over
my wife and children
and bring them all
home
safely.”

I dwell in this
quiet and slow moment,
until clarity materializes.

Then, the barking begins

shallow and soft,
ruff-ruff

ruff
then louder

yike-yike-yike!

which signals the
end of my morning
ritual.