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There’s something about the quiet before the storm. And my quiet begins at 6:30 in the morning, well before the house begins to stir, well before I am in demand. No need for an alarm as my body clock keeps perfect time. I reach for my glasses just to confirm what I already know that it is in fact morning and that my spouse and sixty-two-pound Labradoodle, Baxter, are still beside me in their own silent unconsciousness. Over the years, my extraction from bed has proved more challenging, and today is no exception. Where it was once a quick fluid motion has become systemically calculated movements. Where I once could tiptoe silently through the room its now with murmurs of stiffness and instability. And just as I find balance, Baxter’s head pops up, as if his own internal alarm has signaled that I’m on the move. He’s my shadow into the bathroom so as not to lose sight of me and yet he doesn’t demand anything except my company. I’m quiet in the bathroom, a quick gargle of mouthwash an...