Oh, my little dog.
You do nothing all day.
To move from your bed, to my bed, to under my bed, to the couch, then under the dinning room table, ending on the middle of the floor; you are so tired.
When I am at my desk, you lay under it. I look down at you, and though you act like you are sleeping, I see your side eye.
What do you wonder? What do you dream?
You do not understand time, but you understand pattern.
Where is the lady? Where is the kid? Why are you still here? I think I will sleep. No! I will lick my left front paw. THEN, I will sleep. Hey you’re moving… I will follow you to the couch… where I will sleep next to you.
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