This Moment: 3:48 A.M. January 14, 2012
The old dog wakes me with her whining and restlessness. Her too long nails click on the hardwood. I stand on the warm heat vent until both dogs bark to be let back inside. The small dog is back on the bed next to my snoring husband. The old dog has settled on the rug, her nose pressed against the front entry door. I am on the living room couch, wrapped up in my velvet patchwork throw, listening to the warm air push out of the vents, and to the low rumble of a passing train. The heat cuts off and I am left with house sounds. The old dog growls in her sleep. I wonder what enemy stalks her dream.