October 2024 Flash Lit 4:2 - On the Tip of My Tongue

Ellie’s cold nose touched my ankle and then just the tip of her wet tongue.  Two heavy paws thumped on to the edge of the bed.  “Down, Ellie,” I said.  “I’m not dead, just sleeping.”

We did this, or some variation, over and over last night.  Sometimes she checked on Brent; sometimes she accompanied the ritual with a little whine.  Once Ellie was reassured and once we convinced her that no, we were not going to share the double bed with her, too, she resigned herself to sleeping near her sister Izzy.

 

And then, when I got up this morning, there was the thunder of paws and barking.  It was either joy that finally I would stop being mostly inaccessible or a recognition that awake I might be a whole different person.

 

I redeemed myself for this disruption by providing breakfast.  And now they are snoozing at my feet.