I used to chase the sunrise,
green tea in hand,
the Word lighting my path
before dawn woke the sky.
Now dawn arrives uninvited—
a wet nose,
a wagging tail,
a sermon in fur and persistence.
Four a.m. again.
The world still sleeps,
but my heart beats to the sound
of a Doberman’s yawn.
We’ve tried all remedies—
later nights,
melatonin dreams,
whispered bargains.
Still, he stirs.
Perhaps it’s not fear of the dark,
but faith in the light—
that somewhere in the quiet
we’ll rise, together,
to greet what God has waiting.
When the Alarm Has Paws
