The Morning Delegation

It’s early. Ridiculously early. The world is still blue-grey and holding its breath. But I’m up—by choice, no less. Dog and cat fed. Coffee brewed. Brain only halfway online. I sit down to write, clutching the warm mug like it’s the last torch on earth.

This is my hour.

My quiet.

My sacred little pocket of words.

And then—thud.

A soft, deliberate leap.

Nia lands on the arm of my chair, balanced like a gymnast with opinions. She doesn’t bark. Doesn’t nudge. She just stares, nose inches from mine, eyes alert with border collie intensity.

It’s not aggressive. It’s not pleading.

It’s simply… time.

Time for the walk.

We step outside just as the first light spills across the campus lawns. Dew clings to the grass. The sky is still deciding what colour it wants to be. And Nia? Nia is ready for her shift.

And then… the crew begins to assemble.

First up: Dino. A younger, equally dramatic border collie who’s currently MIA because he’s off getting desexed. Happy birthday, pal. Get well soon.

Next: Lilla. Ball in mouth. Ball in heart. She offers it like an olive branch to Nia, who couldn’t care less about tennis balls – she’s after bigger game – but is always up for a social whirl.

Enter Waffle. The greyhound who lives in a neighbouring apartment and has clearly internalised the vibe. Moves with elegant grace. Nods solemnly at Nia. Shares in the quiet dignity of long-legged loafing.

Then there’s Rocco. Fluffy. White. Very excited. Owned by a family from Iran who speak to him like he’s royalty. He believes them.

Bacon shows up—yes, that’s his name. Recently re-homed, slightly confused, but determined to make the best of it. We don’t talk about the name. It’s not his fault.

And, of course, Rover, a creatively named oodle who thinks he’s in charge but is mostly fluff and chaos. His owner is heading to Mumbai to get her wedding dress tailored. Rover has no idea what marriage is, but he suspects it involves fewer walks and is mildly offended.

There’s also the café girl, who pauses mid-muffin setup to rush out and greet Nia like she’s Taylor Swift with paws. Nia accepts this with royal grace.

By the time we head home, the morning is fully awake. So is Nia. She’s conquered the ducks. Out-sniffed the competition. Upheld honour in the Great Ibis Chase.

But the day is only just beginning.

Because after her morning treat, Nia goes to work.

She’s got 300 university students to supervise. Basketballs to chase. Pizza crusts to hunt down like ancient artifacts. And of course, hugs to be distributed.

She takes it all in stride.

By late afternoon, she’s earned her nap. Curled up beside my desk, one ear twitching, dreaming of the bush turkey she almost caught and balls she didn’t chase.

The sun begins to dip.

And I know what’s coming.

That leap.

That stare.

That unspoken sentence:

It’s time for dinner.