A cold, wet snout delicately sniffs the curves of my face before licking the tip of my nose.

“Ugh… Barge!” I hastily roll over and slap my husband on the chest. “It’s your turn,” I mumble to him against the pillows.

“What time is it?” Joe sighs heavily.

I roll back over, squinting my eyes open to look at the clock. “5:50. He’s ready to go chase squirrels.”

Down the hall I hear the tip tapping of four large paws on our hardwood floor heading towards the bedroom.

“Great, Rocko is awake, too.” Now both dogs are pacing around our bed, demanding to be let outside and fed their breakfast. “It’s your turn, Joe. Get up.”

Joe grunts dramatically and sluggishly peels his body up and out of the bed to answer the demands of all three of us. As the back door opens, both dogs race each other through the house. Barge is lighter and faster than Rocko, so he briskly slides past him, nearly knocking him off of his feet. He then leaps through the doorway into the air, clearing the steps completely, and darts across the yard after a moving target.

Rocko, on the other hand, gracefully takes his time walking down the stairs, savoring the brisk air flowing through his soft, black coat. There’s nothing he loves more.

A few minutes later, the sound of dog food clanging into two metal bowls quickly draws both of them back into the house. Rocko is closer to the door, but Barge scurries past him and beats him to the finish line. They scarf down their breakfast, vigorously lap their water bowls dry and race back into the bedroom. After making coffee, Joe slowly follows behind them.

As soon as he’s done eating, Barge runs back down the hall and leaps onto the bed, claiming the spot next to me just before Joe can get there. Joe shoves Barge to the middle of the bed and cuddles in next to us. The three of us lie silently and close our eyes for a short moment until the alarm goes off.

“I don’t even know why we set an alarm anymore.” I turn towards the nightstand and hit the snooze button.

Five minutes later, the alarm sounds again.

“Okay, we really have to get up this time or we’re both going to be late for work,” I say without moving.

Joe gets back out of bed and mindlessly fumbles through the pile of clean laundry on the chair in our bedroom. He manages to put together a rather wrinkly outfit along with a pair of mismatched socks. After getting his shoes on, he walks over to my side of the bed, kisses me on my forehead and whispers, “You’re going to be late.”