Dogs and People

Here’s a Sunday morning something you already know.

Dogs just know.

Dogs know their people.

Long, sad sounds sporadic all night long.

My voice is like my daughter’s we’ve been told.

I fell in and out of sleep in the place just the length of me and struggled for the covers the big brown dog made immovable, laid down on, heavy and silent.

The beagle had taken the black dog’s bed.

The black dog wandered the length of hall.

Made long and longing sounds.

“Eli, Eli.” I implore and he comes into the room reluctantly.

Gets up close, another sigh, then wanders back down the hall to wait for the one who is not me.

Dogs just know.

Daylight now and he’s decided I suppose, I’ll do

for now.

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