theinbetween

It would take me years to identify and accept that pattern in my own life.

He seemed to be acutely aware of the importance of it and understood his role in it.

Every day we would obsessively complete this two-hour routine.

All that whining and barking to get started was just so he could get right back to where he began a mere two hours earlier.

The performance is barely over before it’s back to bed for him, it’s as simple as that.

I play my usual repertoire and then whatever popular music that comes to mind.

After devouring his café et croissant, he settles in to the chair by the piano and signals that the performance can begin.

Once we’re home, he demands his breakfast and recital.

He must cross La Seine at Pont Des Invalides at approximately 7:25 AM so he can exchange sniffs with his girlfriend, Anjou.

I’m left exchanging pleasantries with Madame as she attempts to improve my poor French pronunciation.

He inhales his doggie energy bar and off he goes.

Milou won’t move an inch before Madame gives him his treat.

We run along La Seine until we reach Madame Dutertre’s Patisserie du Chiens.

We run along La Seine until we reach Madame Dutertre’s Patisserie du Chiens. Milou won’t move an inch before Madame gives him his treat.

Food, bones, water and the occasional plush toy to destroy was all he required.

He was not only mon fidele ami, but also the most affordable coach in Paris.

He is fully aware that unless I want to incur the wrath of our neighbors at this early hour, we best get moving.

The only thing that will quiet him now is getting out for our morning run.

Like any good personal trainer, Milou’s systematic barking instructs me to pick up the pace.

Waiting for real life to begin