Monday morning, the thumping of Fleegle’s tail against my face wakes me. I vaguely remember flying in my dream, but it’s the dog fur in my mouth that has my attention now. It’s close enough time to the alarm clock going off that I get up and start my day, and soon Fleegle and I are on our way to our first appointment.

Fleegle watches the road closely from his co-pilot seat. He knows our work schedule based on the roads we take. “Ooo, we’re going to Little Daisy’s house. I love Little Daisy.”

“That’s right,” I say, but then get a phone call. I let it go to voice mail since I’m driving and then pull over when I can to check it. Little Daisy’s sciatica is acting up and her owner wants to reschedule for another day later in the week.

When traffic is clear, I make a u-turn and head to our next appointment, a dog we normally see on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but whose owner added an extra day this week.

“What are you doing?” Fleegle moans in near panic. “What about Little Daisy? I love her. She likes it when I groom her.”

“Change of plans.”

“That’s all you have to say, change of plans?” he says and growls, not happy with me for getting his hopes up to see Little Daisy and then letting him down, but he settles in to watching the road again. “Ooo, we’re going to Big Daisy’s house now. I love Big Daisy. She likes to wrestle.”

Big Daisy is a Newfoundland. “She sure does,” I say. Fleegle knows a lot of Daisys and Sadies and Zoës.

“But we don’t wrestle with Big Daisy until Tuesday. Is this Tuesday? What happened to Monday? Did we even have a Monday? Did your change of plans make Monday disappear? Just how long was that last nap of mine?”

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