I stepped into my darkened garage this morning. My Black Labrador wasn’t waiting at the door for me. Sitting on the doorstep apparently makes Derby feel closer to us. When she came to greet me, sleep still hung about her like a warm blanket, until her squinting eyes and fluttering lashes chased it away.
Only she hadn’t come from the direction of her bed. Over the weekend, I’d been clearly as friends’s property of invading alders. When I got home sweat and rain ran through all my clothes and wood chips snuck in everywhere. My wife brought my robe and I stripped in the garage. Derby had been sleeping on my piled clothes.
Is that cute or what?
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