Grandma Kay's day often started not with an alarm clock, but with a furry white presence by the bedroom door. Kola, despite his deafness, had an impeccable internal clock, especially when it came to his morning constitutional. He wouldn't bark or whine, knowing those sounds were lost to him. Instead, he'd stand sentinel, a fluffy statue whose patient gaze was fixed on the spot where Grandma usually appeared.
Mornings began not with a sound, but with a subtle shift in the house that Kola, ever attuned, would sense. Perhaps it was the vibration of Grandma Kay stirring, or the change in light, but Kola knew the routine. He’d pad down the hall, tick-tick-ticking along, to grandma's bedside, his tail giving a gentle thump-thump against the floor, a silent announcement of his presence.
As Grandma Kay carefully swung her legs out of bed, reaching for her walker, Kola would watch intently. "Are you awake, little doggie?" she'd ask, looking down at him. "Time to get up?" Kola, seeing her preparing to move, would respond with a happy wiggle, understanding the morning ritual was beginning, even if her words were unheard. He'd stay close, a furry guide, as she made her way with the walker.
Her instructions were spoken into the quiet room, unheard but matched by her actions. "Okay, let's go outside," she might say, already moving towards the door. Kola, seeing her direction and familiar preparations, would trot ahead eagerly, pausing at the door and looking back, his intelligent eyes asking the question her words couldn't convey to him. Her praise, "Good doggie, waiting for me," was accompanied by a gentle pat, a touch he understood perfectly, reinforcing the familiar, comforting rhythm of their shared mornings.
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