Aging companion still brightens every morning.

Byline: Write on by Holly Krueger For The Register-Guard

LIL AND I LOVE early mornings. The world is quiet, the day is new and all things seem possible. Over the years, advancing age has changed our morning ritual but it's still our favorite time of the day.

Lil, short for Lilith, is my longtime canine companion, a black Lab who came into my life when she was just 3 weeks old. She was one of 10 wiggling black blobs who seemed indistinguishable from each other. However, she was one of only three girls and she's the one who climbed on my shoulder and started sucking on my ear. You might think it was just a reflex, but I believed it was love at first bite. Lil, as yet unnamed, was too young to take home, so I painted her nails red in order to identify her when I returned. I think she secretly liked having red toes that matched mine.

At eight weeks, Lil came home with me, but the morning rituals weren't that much fun at first. It was November in Oregon - cold, dark and perpetually raining. Always an early riser, Lil was up at 4:30 a.m., which meant I jumped up, grabbed her, stumbled down the stairs and plunged headlong into the rain in my nightie so that Lil could have her morning constitutional.

She was then ready to play and greet the day. I tried to be enthusiastic while I poured coffee onto the counter, the carpet, and eventually into my cup. Then it was time to go outside again; you know the drill. Without the help of a pet psychic, I was the most neurotic puppy owner one could imagine. I read puppy books, consulted with other puppy owners, took her to puppy classes, generally experienced angst about my puppy parenting and saved money for remedial consultations with the behavioral specialist (the doggie equivalent of psychotherapy).

At two months, Lil began sharing the bed and was totally hogging it just one month later. My restful nights deteriorated because I found it difficult to sleep while clinging precariously to the edge of the bed. In the mornings, Lil would stare at me with every muscle tensed in eager anticipation of my awakening. The slightest hint that I was coming around caused her to leap up, lick my face and retrieve her favorite wet, disgusting chew toy.

At 4 years, Lil needed major orthopedic surgery. After months of rehabilitation, she was running again but could no longer sleep on the bed. After all, Lil wasn't your average size Lab. She is 25 1/2 inches tall at the shoulder and weighed 98 pounds at her heaviest. She couldn't leap and I couldn't lift, so she got her own bed with duvet covers that matched the season and slept right next to me on the floor.

She still waited in eager anticipation for me to stir in the mornings, only she started dropping the disgusting chew toy on my face, which seemed to get me up more quickly.

Years passed with the morning ritual relatively unchanged. Lil and I greeted the day and were out for a walk before most of the world had stirred.

Now she is 13. She doesn't hear as well, she has cataracts, and I almost lost her last winter. Neither one of us leap up in the mornings. Now I get up first and get down on the floor to scratch her behind the ears. I've thought about dropping a wet chew toy in her face, but I'd have to chew it first and I think she likes being scratched better. Our morning walks are now 5 minutes long and they're pretty slow. In the summers, I sip coffee on the deck while Lil rests on her outdoor bed and surveys her kingdom.

We still love the mornings. She has taught me so much about patience, stoicism and faithfulness. Through her, I have a greater understanding of the cycles of life and the challenges of aging. I just hope we have more time together, because I can't imagine mornings without her.

Holly Krueger, psychologist and life coach, lives in Eugene.

To contribute to Write On, mail a typed, double-spaced manuscript to Write On, The Register-Guard, P.O. Box 10188, Eugene, OR 97440. Submissions should be 500 to 800 words long. Attach a cover letter that includes your age, address, telephone number, occupation and a couple of sentences of biographical information. There is no payment for a published column.