(In the perspective of my dog, Spike.)
A noise. Head up. Ears at attention.
Movement. Rustle. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
Watch the stairs. Watch them.
It’s the big one. He’s coming down to let me out.
He walks over and yawns, leans over to scratch behind my ears. Says, “Who’s a good boy?”
I stretch out my front paws
And stretch out my back paws.
Open my mouth wide in a yawn and even my tongue gets a stretch.
He gets up and walks to the door.
Scratch at the door as he unlocks it.
It’s open. A burst of cold air knocks me in the face.
Cold. Cold. Cold.
Run back inside.
Look how fast I am. I can out run the weather.
Up the stairs down the hall jump up on the bed.
I found her.
Still sleeping even though her box beep beep beeps.
I will wake her.
Lick lick lick her arm. Her skin smells like oranges. Tastes good too.
She moves the arm under the blanket.
What’s that? Under there?
Chew chew chew the fingers under blanket.
She moans, grumbles, and tucks the arm somewhere I can’t find.
Sniff sniff sniff. I smell her hair. Find her face.
Lick lick lick. She pushes me away.
I sit behind her shoulders and rest my head on her neck.
I do not lick.
I blink. Sad eyes. Give it a minute.
She rolls over.
A hand appears from somewhere scratches me behind the ear.
She is awake.