I had no idea so much of my daily routine involved a dog.

After nearly 15 years of doing things a certain way, it was quite an adjustment today to not feed someone besides me, to not give someone her morning pills, to not bother closing the gate after I pulled my car out, to not listen for the “I-have-to-pee-right-now-hurry-up-and-let-me-out” bark.

I think the biggest shock came when I realized that getting up in the morning no longer includes that extra step over a snoring dog on the top stair. I’m not sure my hazy, just-awakened-mind knows how to climb stairs without that big step at the end.

I took my big step this morning, like always, and then looked back, wondering why I didn’t hear the usual rattle of tags and click of nails on tile, sounds that meant she’d felt my vibration in the floor and knew it was time to get up.

Even though I knew she couldn’t hear a thing I said, I always talked to her during our brief morning routine. Habit from her younger years, I guess, when she could hear. I like to think my mouth movement let her know I was talking to her anyway.

I’ve never really thought about it before, but whoever said that “man’s best friend” bit was right. She was to whom I rambled on and on about everything and nothing. When I was much younger and had had a bad day at elementary school, I’d come home and sit on the floor and she’d jump on my lap and let me hold and pet her while I recovered. She didn’t understand (or, later, even hear) any of what I said, but she listened all the same.

After the big step this morning though, I remembered, and today I got ready without saying anything at all.