Monday. Stretching over the far side of my bed, I could watch the dog’s rhythmic breathing.

So Molly was still alive. Thank you, God. But why hadn’t she awakened me at seven (or earlier) as was her wont? It was almost eight o’clock.

Frightened, I called to her. Relieved, I saw her immediate response.

Long football weekend. Perhaps that just exhausted us both. (I know I always have to play each down with the teams.)

I was happy again when I saw her join me for our regular walk for the papers. She was frisky and frolicking, eager to get to her breakfast once we returned.

Still, it served to remind me that I had already submitted the first half of this Musing but with still so much to say.

Molly stretched out by the deck door, appreciating her rest after walk and food.

Molly’s life pretty much centers around sleep and eating.

She still wheezes often and her cough sounds like a child with croup for something has been wrong with her larynx. Her hoarse bark must not hurt her for she’ll continue as long as she believes it serves a purpose.

I have noticed recently that the steps are becoming more of a problem. I was told when I adopted this golden retriever that Molly didn’t “do” steps. But doesn’t everybody have a few? I tried and absolutely gave up trying to get her to go down the steps off my bedroom deck. That was such an easy way to get Henry out if he really, really needed to go in the middle of the night. So far that hasn’t been a problem with Molly. In fact, I’ve never known a dog that needed yard runs so seldom.

But those steps. She’ll come out into the garage, stand and just look at those two stairs. Given a choice, she’ll turn back into the house. Or, acknowledging the necessity, just stand there. A treat tossed onto the garage floor is some motivation (but I don’t want to “pay” her every time she has to go out). Other times the very slightest nudge on her back end gets her moving. I’d never push or hurt her.

Coming back up those steps is never a problem — but the open door into the house seems to be. She will stand and wait for me to close it. Then, in she comes — through the doggy door! I am grateful 100% canine psychology is not required of her mistress.

The built-in atomic clock works at the far end of our day as well. Six o’clock is her dinner time. Should I be doing something in another room. “Yes, Molly, I’ll be right there.” To be fair there was one time when I got to writing and forgot. I forgot me — and I forgot Molly. She never complained that time. I can tell you right now, at 5:59, she’s standing there until she can be ignored no more.

I couldn’t catch the wagging tail but think I caught the eager glimpse in her eyes as I prepared her dinner. Guests who think her elderly and slow are amazed for she positively bounds with joy, bouncing enthusiastically while I fill the bowl. (Breakfasts in my home tend to be meager. We save the best for last.)

She may get a bit of leftovers. I place the plate between her out-stretched legs. She’ll lick it clean . . . but only as far as she can easily stretch. The far side remains untouched.

A voracious eater, she’s then content to go back to sleep. And boy, does she sleep. Too often I reach down to pat her and she startles, deep down in slumber, deeper than I suspect I go.

I tend to eat much later, a time to unwind once my day is over. Again, Molly has surprised me for somebody did a supremely good job of teaching Molly to stay out of the way when the cook is bustling about the kitchen. It just looks like she’s resting — but that’s not a usual “resting” place. She’s out of my path while I move between fridge, stove and sink.

Each day brings with it new blessings and joy.

I am lucky indeed.

Susan Crossett has lived in Arkwright for more than 20 years. A lifetime of writing led to these columns as well as two novels. Her Reason for Being was published in 2008 with Love in Three Acts following in 2014. Information on all the Musings, her books and the author may be found at Susancrossett.com.