Lou has more daily rituals than any dog I have ever known. Timing in the day is important. Order of events is important. Most revolve around meals or treats. Others are “walk to the gate” — a morning ritual, “play retrieve exercise with the purple Kong football” — this one comes after breakfast, “alone time in the backyard with the big round orange Kong ball” — mid-morning when Buck and I are working at our desks, and so on, until we three have lunch together (hers being a Dentastix).
Lou is under my desk right now, head on my foot. She already gently pawed the inside of my left arm where the elbow crooks to remind me it’s time for our morning walk, gave up with a big sigh, and went under the desk in that long-suffering dog way.
One of the last of her rituals each evening is to snuggle on Buck’s side of the bed so that when he fluffs his feather pillows preparatory to reading for an hour or two, she is under them. It’s one of their many games. Lou is 7, Buck 84 next week. They both still have a lot of puppy in them.