March 24, 2011
Tuesday evening a member of our yoga class asked our instructor when she did yoga. At what point in the day did she enjoy it most?
She replied she did yoga in the morning and in the evening.
Morning helps her wake up.
Evening helps her sleep well.
My mind jumped at the possibilities!
I'm up at 5.30 every morning.
Why not try some morning yoga?
So I did.
Rather than remove the dogs from the yoga picture, causing them distress and agony because they can't understand how come I'm locking them out of the bedroom, I decided to switch tack.
Let them in.
See what's going on.
Participate in any manner, assuming it's appropriate of course, they chose.
Hoping that eventually, they'll see this as a part of my everyday routine.
Meaning this morning's yoga session was me centering and concentrating while having my face licked because I was sitting on the floor.
Mummy never sits on the floor.
That is the canine domain.
My feet and toes were bathed while I did the breathing exercises.
By Frankie.
Tikka claimed my face and neck as her territory.
The entire scenario felt almost pornographic.
Nonetheless, I persevered and eventually the novelty of me being on the floor wore off.
But not before I was licked head to toe.
And not in a way I necessarily envisioned.
Goblet has also found the yoga experience inviting.
Last evening while Stephen and the dogs were out for a run, I was doing yoga.
I have found it really helps me get rid of the stress of the day.
Goblet has a bell on her collar.
So I know when she's around.
Not that I wouldn't anyway, as she walks as if her feet are clad in cement booties.
This time I am working on the standing poses, and she is weaving in and out of my legs.
Purring loudly.
Bell ringing.
When I reached for my yoga belt to do some shoulder and arm work, she leaped on the bed and started reaching for the belt.
Seems anything that vaguely resembles a string or is string-like is solely her purview.
And when I finished with the belt and put it on the bed, she pounced on it as if it were a choice bit of tenderloin.
Sniffing, pawing, tasting. . .
I put a stop to that.
During the "corpse pose" she wandered back and forth in a semi-circle around my head, purring very loudly.
I knew what scheming she was cooking up in her little feline mind.
Ear sucking.
Because if I'm lying down, I must be inviting her to latch on to my ear lobe for a relaxing suckle for her.
And increasing the possibility that I may fall asleep on the floor.
So. . . .no.
I took command and refused to allow Stephen's feline harlot to latch on to me.
She wants earlobes, she can wait for Stephen.
But she was not deterred from other pursuits as easily.
When I put the yoga belt back in my yoga bag, at the bottom, under the pillow, yoga mat and my socks, she marched over to the bag and started nosing things out of the way.
Searching for THE BELT.
Goblet yoga.
Who knew?
I had thought out what morning yoga would mean.
Cavorting canines and feisty felines?
Check.
Centering to the blissful, relaxing yoga music.
Check.
Centering to the blissful, relaxing yoga music that was punctuated with Stephen's ungodly, horrific, loud and always vexing snoring.
Check.
If I can sleep through it, most of the time anyway, I can yoga to it.
What I hadn't counted on, however, because there is always something you don't remember, is Stephen's early morning bathroom dash.
And sure enough, this morning, face down on my yoga mat doing the starfish pose, he returns from the bathroom.
The getting out of bed and going to the bathroom wasn't an issue.
I was sitting in the lotus position. . . .
. . .okay, MY version of the lotus position. . .more like the ladybug position. . . .
so my risk of being trampled was non existent.
But. . .
His return coincided with the one position that has me face down on the floor.
All sorts of scenarios ran through my head.
Most of which involved him tripping and falling on me in some way, causing permanent bodily harm to at least one, but most likely both of us.
If I said anything, I'd startle him.
His early morning startle reflex is legendary.
Actually, his startle reflex period, is legendary.
If I didn't say anything, he may trip over me.
Even if I laid there quiet as a mouse, he may well trip over me.
His early morning co-ordination is the direct opposite of his early morning startle reflex.
Low.
Very low.
One morning he's going to do a header down the stairs.
It's inevitable.
I did the only thing I could do.
Raised my feet and kept my mouth shut.
Lessening the chance of trampling and falling.
It worked.
He shuffled back to bed without incident.
I don't even think he knew I was there.
Em and I watched Sister Wives last evening.
Stephen said the same thing he always says,
"Why would any man in his right mind want more than one wife??????"
It goes both ways, honey.
Title Lyric: Cats and Dogs by Social Code
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