The little brown dog curls up tighter than a ball of yarn, her heavy lids attracted to each other with magnetic force.
She falls into a deep comatose sleep.
Groans rumble from her throat after a moment or two and echo through the den at intervals metered in puppy dreams.
Deep guttural groans rumble through her, speaking of hard labor in the gulags, distant perils on ancient whalers off the eastern coast, and hot sticky asphalt shimmering cruelly and burning soles.
Heartbreaking, incongruous sounds that cry for help.
“Are you all right, my puppy?”
Arms curl around the skinny body, kisses cover furry brow.
Her response: a long contented yawn, chewing of the air and a puzzled smile as if to say, “You woke me up and I was fast asleep.”