Iris has notes

There’s a moment every morning that I genuinely look forward to. Coffee made, kids' lunches packed, the house briefly quiet. I sit down in my chair, put on my readers, and pick up whatever I’m currently working through. This is my plan. I am very committed to this plan.

And then Iris climbs into my lap and headbutts my book onto the floor.

If you’ve spent any time on Instagram you may have encountered Kiki and Koko, a pair of beagles whose human attempts — heroically, tragically — to cook while they patrol the kitchen. The chaos is operatic. I watch these videos with the recognition of a man who has seen things. We have two beagles, Rose and Iris, and they have opinions about every activity I attempt that doesn’t directly involve them.

Reading is a particular affront. The book takes up space that could be a beagle. The act of sitting still and looking at something that isn’t them is, apparently, a form of aggression that must be answered.

Rose tends to position herself across my feet and sigh loudly at intervals, like a Victorian invalid registering disappointment. Iris prefers direct action: the lap climb, the head-nudge, the face lick deployed precisely as I’ve reached a good sentence.

I’ve started bookmarking more aggressively. It turns out “I’ll remember where I was” is optimistic even without a beagle involved.