The Coffee Habit

My wife is an addict. She can't go a day with out a cup (or seven) of hot black coffee. This doesn't bother me. I adore the aroma of brewing coffee filling the house and I enjoy an occasional cup.

But my wife has a problem. No, she doesn't drink too much. I jest about her her being a coffee addict, but I know people whose java addiction is a serious issue that makes Bekah look like a recreational user. Bekah's complication is not the rate of her consumption.

Her dilemma is the quantity of mugs used during the course of a day. She'll brew a pot, start sipping her first cup and set it down somewhere to carry on with the rest of her day. An end table, the kitchen counter, the bathroom, window sills, on top of the TV in our bedroom - she's fairly indiscriminate in where she abandons her cup of coffee.

One of two things happen: either it's lost its warmth or she forgets it's existence. Either way, she pulls a new mug out of the cabinet and pours a second round (or third... maybe fourth).

Some nights I've come home to find several mugs filled to varying depths littered through out the house. Other nights I've discovered a collection of mugs by the sink, waiting for me to load them into the dishwasher, each filled with some quantity of room temperature coffee stewing inside. And, on rare occasions, I've found mugs filled almost to the point of overflowing and cold - poured but not a single sip taken.

I'll admit, Bekah is improving. She's down to one or two mugs used on any given day. And to her credit she is a busy mommy. If you've read her facebook status updates, you may have experienced second-hand weariness in realization that she accomplishes more in a day than should be humanly possible. She keeps our kids safe and alive. If a pot or two of coffee is required to make all of that possible, I won't complain. Even if it means I have to scavenge the house to make sure there aren't any mugs left lingering in places they best not stay, I won't complain.

Until now.

Our dogs are hyperactive. Spastic freakazoids. If autism could be diagnosed in canines, both George and Nita would be worthy candidates. They're cute, adorable, and quirky with raw cookie dough for brains.

What do two mentally impaired dogs have to do with Bekah's coffee problem?

Bekah is at work, the kids are in bed, and I'm sitting at my computer to watch an old episode of Glee. The dogs are running around the living room behind me, wresting and doing whatever it is skittish dogs do when they're restless. They've been fed, they're happy, and occupied.

That is when I heard some lapping. I didn't leave any water dishes out for the dogs, but even if I had, they would be in the kitchen. This sound? It was closer. Much closer. I swiveled my chair around to confront the suspicious sound to find a sheepish looking Nita. Back legs on the arm of a couch, two paws on the end table, head positioned above a tall brown mug, furry muzzle dripping with a dark liquid.

Bekah left a half full mug out today. Nita found it and indulged.

Nita spent the next dozen minutes chasing ghosts from the living room to the kitchen to the dining room to the living room to the kitchen to the... Around and around in hurried circles. Then she wandered around for a few minutes like a drunken sailor while George watched with curious amazement. Finally Nita plopped down at my feet and looked at me as if waiting for some form of compliment.

Good news: caffeine has no long term detrimental effect on schnoodles. Hopefully, Nita doesn't develop a problem.

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