…dog woke me at 4:36am to go out, which is earlier than normal. So I don my robe and slippers, yellow stained mouthguard still in place, and go out the back door to the street behind my house. It’s uncharacteristically cold here: 41 degrees. He immediately pulls me down the hill, which isn’t where he normally pees, and then up the other street. It’s dark, I’m in a robe and slippers, mouth full of plastic, being pulled further and further up a hill away from my house in the freezing cold. He finally stops and unleashes a small mountain of poop. Poor guy. Bad tummy. Then back home for two more hours of intermittent sleep. Tomorrow I’m up at 5:30 to drive him up to Ventura County, one and a half hours north, to a see an orthopedic specialist for an injury to his shoulder. The poor boy needs surgery. It’s the cone of shame for two weeks and six weeks of recovery for him. But he’s my boy, so what can a father do