Puppies cry and call for a nipple as I sit in my wicker rocker, toes thawing at the space heater. Save for the pups it is a quiet morning. The sky shows lavender and pink of a sunrise. I have missed those, waking to darkness followed by clouds. Bernie's nails click as he paces the kitchen. He downed the left over stew and is going to the living room to chew his rawhide.
It is so warm and comfortable here I don't want to move but the quiilt awaits. Curly's birthday is friday and I want to be finished by then.
Bernie clicks back into the kitchen peering at me through his overgrown bangs. I am too preoccupied with this, so he wanders back to big easy chair, curling up into a blonde hairy ball. The pups are silent all having found a teat. I can see Hilda sitting up so they have better access, looking entranced by the sensation of nine little mouths sucking.
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