GOOD MORNING FT BELVOIR!

Mornings are different now.

I wake up to the rumbling footfalls above my head — somewhere in the vicinity of 5am and think, “Wow. Army folks get goin’ early.”

I lay there and listen to their morning routine, measured in the strike pattern. I haven’t seen my upstairs neighbor. Whoever it is comes in late and rises early. I’m signaled to their comings and goings by the slamming of doors and their 300 lb gorilla steps.

Why am I the only one who wakes? The kids don’t seem bothered at all. But the dog hears and is ready to go out for his morning constitution. He comes and licks my face soon after Army guy begins his morning shuffle.

I trip around the dark trying not to wake my 12-year-old son sleeping on the pullout sofa in the other room. He lies between me and the door.

He didn’t remember to pack much, besides his clock radio with the nature sounds. He’s always had trouble falling asleep. Apparently he’s found peace with the frog symphony that fills the air around him.

Horace and I find the door after stumbling around for a shirt, some shoes, etc.

We’re in Army “transient housing” for the next 30 days while we wait out our dog’s quarantine and fulfill our summer swim team schedule.

We are transient.

Army guy just stomped down the steps and slammed out the door of the apartment complex, which is right outside ours.

“BANG!”

So the day begins.