Euharlee Creek is rising, the coffee is brewing, and the bassets are already running the show.
I’ve never been a fan of rushing into the day. I believe in easing into it—slowly, intentionally, with a hot coffee in hand and a seat on the porch where the view is part wilderness, part comedy show.
Life here at our old creekside cabin unfolds at its own pace, and our pets are the stars of the morning routine.
Let me introduce you to the crew.
Cash, our gentle giant of a Basset Hound, is likely still in bed as I write this. He could eat the other two in one bite if he wanted to—but he doesn’t. He’s too laid-back to lead, too chill to challenge, and way too content to move unless absolutely necessary.
Shelby, on the other hand, makes her grand descent each morning like the diva she is. Her throne? A $700 ottoman I insisted on when we bought new living room furniture. It sits by the fireplace and was meant for guests—or, you know, humans. But now it has a Shelby-shaped “well” in the cushion, and she has claimed it as her own. She guards it like a dragon with its hoard, daring poor Cash to even try to get cozy beside her.
Bean, our cat and self-proclaimed explorer, is already out on his morning mission via the pet door. He came to us back when I worked in vet-med—tiny, unwanted, and just what I didn’t know I needed. I used to hang bird feeders on the porch, thinking I was helping the wildlife. Turns out, I was just setting the table for Bean. He treated them like a drive-thru. So, down the feeders came.
Out here, we live nestled in the woods along the beautiful, wide, and deep Euharlee Creek. It may rise from time to time, but it’ll never reach the house, thanks to our three-level yard. The other side is a massive sod farm, and nature usually minds her manners. Usually.
But you’d think I personally conjured the storms based on how my pets act when the creek swells and covers their sacred trail. Yes—there’s a trail. They made it themselves, winding through grass and moss, all the way down to the water. When it floods, they act as if their whole world has been upended… and that somehow, it’s my fault.
So I sit here most mornings in my favorite rocker on the porch, sipping coffee while the wind dances through the chimes and my windsock flutters in the breeze. The dogs patrol the yard (once it’s dry), Bean comes and goes like a shadow, and the creek does what the creek does.
It’s not always quiet. It’s rarely perfect. But it’s home.
And on mornings like this, with coffee in hand and critters at my feet, I’m reminded that slow, sweet mornings aren’t wasted time—they’re the good stuff.
Thanks for joining me this morning.
If you’ve got a favorite porch memory, a spoiled pet story, or your own backyard soap opera, I’d love to hear it. Drop a comment or come chat with me on socials—especially if your pets also think you control the weather.
XOXO, Jani
Journeys With Jani 