Ode to a Puppy

This relationship has started much as I believed it would: My human children nestled snugly in their beds as you and I stand together in the dark and in the rain, both of us tired, both of us a little confused as to how we got here; me, begging you to go to the bathroom, please, just go, go already, you can do it, I believe in you; you, looking sadly up at me, refusing to go, refusing to move, making weird and forlorn eye-contact; me, feeling guilty, giving in to your sad, shivering face, believing you surely would have gone by now, surely – it’s been long enough, you’ve only had a kibble and/or a bit in the last hour, so you must be ready for a long night’s sleep; you waking at some random time between bouts of whining, of howling, in the aptly-named wee hours of the morning, to go and go and go, as no 11 pound aggregation of nervously-twitching fur has gone before, truly a sight no one wants to behold; me, dragging your fouled cage out to let the fouled foulness dissipate into the dank morning air. Hello again, dark. Hello rain.

Yes, this relationship has started much as I believed it would.

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