Chules is sick today. I can hear his tummy roiling from across the room. He’s been in- and outside at least a dozen times since morning. When I let him out, he beelines to the side yard fence, and tries to eat the taller grass to ease his stomach pain. Not an easy task for a canine whose teeth are not suited to grazing on plants.
Back inside, Chules disappears into my bedroom to rest in solitude. He likes alone time, even when he’s feeling well. After a couple of hours I go looking for him, and find him on the bed, resting his head on my pillow. This is atypical of him; he usually naps on the floor behind my rocking chair. I sit with him and gently pull my fingers through his soft fur. He doesn’t move, but his watery eyes close drowsily. I kiss his head and leave to let him sleep.
In the living room, I retire to the couch with a mystery book I’ve been reading. I like my alone time, too, but today I can’t relax. Soon I hear Chules padding down the hallway. He hops up on the couch and curls up next to me. I pat his backside and return to my book, feeling more at ease now. Sometimes, it’s just better to spend alone time together.
stunted winter grass
green, though growth eludes the eye
grazers are not fooled
