I thought getting up before five was a one-time occurrence. I've since discovered that the rooster starts crowing just before six every morning and that Fred starts barking at about the same time. Dogs and roosters may prevail where all the king's horses and all the king's men have miserably failed, and rout me out of bed well before eight every morning.

I made the mistake of going upstairs around six this morning in my pink fuzzy socks. Fred took them as a personal affront.