I awoke with a groan, already annoyed with the bright light creeping its way between the blinds, but too tired to do anything about it. With minimal effort, I slid my pillow over my face, trying to trick myself into believing it was still night.

Nancy Higgins from apartment 208 had intimidated me into joining her morning yoga class this morning. Of course, by “intimidated” I mean she asked me while we were in the elevator together and I had nowhere to escape. What’s a fitness guru like her taking an elevator for in the first place? She lives on the second floor!

Regardless, to say I didn’t want to go was a severe understatement, and honestly, an insult to my opposition of the idea.

With my pillow still covering my face, I laid my hands by my side, palms-up and wondered if a few extra minutes in bed didn’t already count as morning yoga? Then I wondered how insulted Nancy and her horde of grass-fed yogis would be if I suggested it did... The thought made me chuckle.

Lifting my arms over my head, I attempted a full-body stretch, but a phantom weight below my hips said shavasa-no to that.

I was vaguely aware of the lack of feeling in my legs. When I tried to move them, an explosion of static erupted from my toes. Thousands of pins and needless pricked relentlessly, all the way up to my shins.

“Ughhhhh, Bruno!”

The weight shifted and I propped myself up on my elbows, locking eyes with my Newfoundland. Despite my best attempt at a stern look, Bruno gazed dolefully back. My giant baby. He’s too cute for my own good...

“Scat, you big oaf,” I say, lovingly, trying to remove all 160 pounds of him off my numb legs. Reluctantly, he obliges, galumphing to the head of my bed and knocking me back down, heavy paws and head resting on my chest.

With a sigh, I settle under the weight and warmth of my “lapdog”. It looked like I wouldn’t be making it to yoga this morning. Bruno wanted to sleep, and who was I to stop him?