Trot

When Duncan whines in the middle of the night it can only mean one thing: get up now or there will be hell to pay. At 3:50 the first faraway whimper broke into my sleep, unzipping the fabric of my dream with little resistance. It's the one thing that really works on me, aside from the telephone, of course. Ken can call my name for five minutes before I flicker awake, but if Duncan whines softly from down the hallway I'm up. Maybe it's because I know Ken could sleep through a tornado (I've literally seen him do it) and if I don't respond... I find myself paying the tolls all the way to hell.

I got up, slipped on my sneakers and coat and found Duncan waiting at the door for me, not wagging his tail, not doing the little bird chirp dance he does whenever it's time to go outside. He was sitting, front and center, like he's been taught, waiting for me. Once I got his leash around him and opened the door, he was off in a hurry, searching for that lucky bit of grass that would be the recipient of the late-night fun for which he'd gotten me out of bed.

Let's just say it wasn't pretty. And although Duncan was able to go back to sleep–he's curled up soundly, guiltlessly, at my feet–I wasn't so lucky. I think I'll sit on the couch and knit a little before giving sleep another try.