Sunday, October 14, 2007

The ineffable lightness of walking.

This post will not have pictures.

Or humor.

When I sleep, when I wake from sleep, when I am going to sleep, I am walked upon by my pups. They move across the bed, hopping up to curl up with us, hopping down to get away from our too warm blankets.

Rocky steps up on the stool. He looks at the bed. He contemplates. He waits for us to ask him up, sometimes. He begins to walk. He stalks along the bed. He places his paw upon my leg gently. Lightly. He shifts his weight onto my leg slowly. Like a glacier reaming out the Earth Mother.

Ok. So there's humor.

He knows my leg is there. Does he stop?

He does not.

Slowly, gently, he crushes me in four square inches.

Then he exhales, and sitflops into a curl at my feet.

We sleep.

In the morning, he is gone. Sleeping on the floor. When I next move, Arthur notices. Arthur has all the subtlety of motion of a landslide. He jumps onto the bed. Often landing on me. He walks up me, I think because I'm more stable than the mattress. Each step is like a tiny, angry fist beating me into wakefulness. He is relentless, his every motion throwing out exuberance and joy.

When I'm on a trip, when I'm away, when Ronnie is left alone with the pups?

They let her sleep in.


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