It’s 4am. I haven’t been up at this hour in a long time. I always thought ‘country folk’ were early risers. Some might well be, but moving to the country shifted my ‘get up hour’ to much later in the day. . . .
Now, I only get up at this hour if I absolutely have to. And, today, I have to.
Today is the day I travel back to the Alabama for the long awaited visit with the family and a much needed heat fix before winter sets in up here on the hill.
I am going on my own. The man is staying here on fur-baby patrol.
I feel guilty about this. The puppy, the girl cat, the boy cat, and the chickens are a handful when he and I are working as a team. As an individual event. . . . Well. . . .
The puppy loves people. Like, he loves people. So much so that he wants constant companionship. Constant.
The girl cat is beautiful and tiny. And loves murdering small animals and bringing them in for all of us to share.
The boy cat is perfection. But he does not understand why we don’t all enjoy his little game of waiting for the puppy to sleep and then biting its tail.
There are, literally, moments in my house when animals chase each other around the sofa. Moments that are most usually portrayed in cartoons and animated films.
This is our life, and I’m leaving the man here on his own to manage it.
But, I’m not just leaving the man here to manage it. The man is also getting up at this hour of darkness to drive me to the airport two hours away.
The man also baked bread last night so I would have homemade bread for my breakfast this morning.
The man is, quite simply, perfect. Perfect for me, anyway.
And, while I’m very keen to see family and friends and feel the heat and the humidity of the deep South, I’m not keen at all on being without the man for over two weeks.
Not keen at all on that. . . .