the sacred 45
I like my early mornings. I wake up to the pre-dawn light (now almost dark again as fall creeps in) and see the world before most. I take time to listen to the farm wake up from my bed. I cab hear the young roosters moan and the shuffle of Maude as she shakes out her wool and starts rooting for apples that fell while she slept. I know every sound and where it comes from.
Gibson usually sleeps right till I get up but today I was ready to go outside early. So I wrapped myself up in a blanket and took him outside to pee. We came back inside and he ran fast as his little legs could carry him back to my bed. He was curled up and eyes closed in moments. I sighed. Some battles are not worth fighting. I found a place for myself and he sidled closer to me. He placed his head in the crook of my arm and scootched his spine back into my belly. He was snuggling and then fell alseep. A puppy out cold. I whispered to him the same question I ask all my dogs, "Are you getting all the love you need?" and set a hand on the side of his dear head. He turned onto his back, stretched out his long paws and then collapsed back into a heap with a sigh, like he gave up on the effort of the stretch. I took that as a yes.
We slept for 38 more minutes like that. Crates be damned.