Oscar is a creature of habit. He likes his routine. He also picks up on patterns very quickly. So if you make the mistake of repeating an interaction with him more than three times, he assumes it is part of the daily routine, and will even initiate it.

Take the Daily Herding Ritual.

Yvette wakes up with the birds. Bright and cheery, she can’t wait to “get a jump on the day.” Why, I don’t know. The day has never expressed any animosity towards her. She takes Oscar out for a walk. (On weekends, if I’m lucky, she does two walks, the second one without Oscar, so that she can bring home coffee and croissants. Yeah, it’s not all bad.)

I, on the other hand, react to morning sunlight like a new vampire. While I abhor any bright light or noise (there’s a reason they’re called “alarm clocks”), I don’t mind at all being woken by the gentle tic, tic, tic of Oscar’s claws on the hardwood as he enters the dark room and slowly winds his way around the bed. I think he followed Yvette in a couple of times, and now it’s just stuck. He sidles up to my side of the bed and silently sits.

He is waiting.

Quietly.

Patiently.

Which is something of a small miracle if you’ve ever met Oscar, who is what breeders call “a highly alert and energetic dog.”

He knows I know he’s there. His breath, alone, could peel paint. To say nothing of the fragrance wafting up from his fur coat.

Resigned to my fate, I slowly roll over and deliver a deep sigh of my own sour morning breath, right into his face. (Fair’s fair.)

But does he recoil?  Au contraire. He wags his tail and licks his chops.

I then scratch his head and pull gently on his tail. He gradually moves further and further away from me. As I lean further and further out, I wake up. I then roll out of bed and he leads the way out to the kitchen. He looks up at Yvette, who acknowledges his “delivery” with a nod to him. Having fulfilled his duty, he shuffles back to his bed for an extended nap.

But on weekends, Yvette takes a perverse delight in winding him up by whispering, “Va chercher Belinda!” (Go find Belinda!) He takes this as his cue to let out a short sharp bark, before hurling himself bodily at the closed door. Having barged into the room he tears around to my side, then runs back to Yvette, then back to me, several times.

Who the hell can sleep with that going on? Still, it beats an alarm clock any day.