The sounds seemed ominous as if my 7-pound poodle was really a much larger canine, like Boomer, the seven-foot, 180-pound hound that made the world record book as the largest dog. Echoing through the house, his barks were so deep and fierce, that I wasn’t so sure I wanted to walk into the bedroom where he was.

What had drawn such anger from my otherwise friendly pooch?

He eyed something on the floor next to my night stand, growling as if it was public enemy No. 1.

My pink, digital alarm clock, a purchase from Walmart, hadn’t ever done any harm to the dog.

But to be honest, I can’t say there hasn’t been many a mornings when I hadn’t growled at the clock myself. I bet some of you have felt the same way about your alarm clock - that it should be burned at the stake.

Mornings have always been overrated. I mean, who gets up early? Farmers. Newspaper editors. People who had early jobs and, of course, mothers. In my house, growing up, there were two people who fell into that category: my dad, a contractor, and of course, my mom.

In fact, my mom said she likes mornings and said something recently about starting a new day. I think she said, and she was using an analogy, “Mornings to me are like having a fresh sheet of paper.”

Mom would get up, any day of the week, between 6 and 7 in the morning, and maybe even earlier, fix our breakfast, lay it on the table, make sure my dad had his, holler at us to wake up and she would smile.

She smiles even more now as she is retired and it is just her and daddy in the house.

The strange thing about my mom is she likes alarm clocks. She doesn’t use one. According to her, she never really has had to use an alarm clock because she has set her mind to be her alarm. There have been a few times that she has used it, like when she had to take my sister to the doctor recently, but it was only a backup plan.

Of course, she doesn’t think the alarm clock is bad. She doesn’t need one to get up.

But that is my mom, always the planner, always the smiler and always the inspiration for a column. And she has her cup of coffee – decaf, she says, but with her cheerful disposition in the wee hours of the morning, I am beginning to wonder exactly how much of her coffee is decaf and not decaf.

Maybe some of you agree with my mom, but my bet is some of you, dear readers, know exactly what I am saying when I say that mornings are not happy times in my house.

When my alarm sounds, I hit snooze and pull the covers over my head for five more minutes. Five minutes later, the clock buzzes again. I hit snooze again. (Good thing that my dog isn’t a morning person either – he ignores the clock in the morning like I do.)

Just as I am in a peaceful slumber, the alarm on my cell phone buzzes from somewhere in the house. The noise gets louder and louder with each alert tone. I have to get up to find it.

Once I find it, lying on the coffee table next to the television, it is too much trouble to get back into bed. I stumble to the fridge, banging my shoulder on the door frame going into the kitchen and fumble for the light switch. It is way too early to think about cooking, much less eating.

The dog decides to get up and whines to be taken on his morning hike around the back yard. It is too cold to take a dog outside at that time of day for a walk, but we do it. I think my eyes are closed, and he is more or less leading me.

After coming back inside, my stomach is rumbling and I am reminded to take my medicine - thyroid replacement - quickly before grabbing a yogurt while I wobble toward the bathroom to turn on the shower.

The warm shower makes me even more drowsy, but I survive it, and get dressed and realize I have to be at work in 10 minutes. (Thank goodness work is three hops, skips and a jump away from my front door!)

It is kind of strange, but I really don’t wake up until almost noon, which might explain why I make editing errors that cause my boss to red-mark my work before it is corrected and published. (OK, that is not the real reason, but, hey, it was worth a shot.)

No, I am not a morning person, but judging from the looks of some of my co-workers and some of you that I pass in the streets, I am not alone, which makes us normal, right?

And my mom is weird.

Stupid alarm clock.

The dog continues to bark at the alarm clock, and you know what, I find myself getting on my hands and knees beside him and barking too.

Not sure who was more surprised, him or me.

But it only seemed fitting.

I mean, the alarm clock really is public enemy No. 1