Fran isn’t tall like the rest of the household inhabitants. This makes it easy for me to rise to my hind legs and be in perfect position for a quick head pat before Fran gets a shower and begins the daily parade for work. She dresses sensibly in soft cotton uniforms with childish designs; they have large pockets for tape, gauze, and needles. She rushes around while I stare up at her.
I spend almost not time preparing myself for my day ahead.
For some reason, I have become distracted. I can’t find Fran’s blue socks. I hear her voice, high-pitched and loving. She calls me downstairs. With each step, I gain momentum. Faster and faster. Blam! I fall onto the cold tile just before whizzing out the door. I turn around to see that Black Dog has followed me.
Fran hooks a long leash to him. He can’t be trusted. I am his superior, and as such, I run freely through the wet grass under the black sky. I love the early morning hours. The trees make no sound. The air is cool and crisp. It allows tiny voices to be heard. I perk my ears. Watching. Waiting. I notice that Black Dog has turned the corner of the house, and trotted out of sight.
Then, I catch the break I’ve been waiting for. I can see my nemesis. P. Cottontail. Our eyes meet, then he darts for the fence. Before I know it, my paws slide onto his original platform. But, he’s gone. Another failed attempt. I’m hopeful yet. His days of torture and mocking are numbered. I’ll win; I’ll take back the yard. One day.
I walk back through the yard, and gather “my belongings” from the end of the leash, and we wait on the porch together.
It’s mere moments until Fran returns to reclaim us from the outdoors. The inside of the house is bright and warm. I trot gracefully into the kitchen for breakfast. Black Dog pushes past me and devours some of the mornings ration. Fran stands idly by with her coffee mug, ignoring Black Dog’s disregard for superiority.
He is on my list of things to do, right under P. Cottontail and the UPS man.
After breakfast and a quick rub down, I return upstairs along side Fran. Instead of walking straight forward and spraying a protective force field around her head, Fran darts left and enters the blue room. The tall girl stares at me, then back to her precious weather forecast on the television.
I inspect the dangling blankets then stroll back into the brightness of the hall behind Fran. Black Dog jumps eagerly onto the blue bed. The tall girl, Jody, leaves her room to shower.
I start to feel tired.
I know what comes next. Fran leaves. She’s gone off for the day. I run downstairs as the garage door opens to watch out the window. My perch lets me see taillights float out the driveway. Now I wait.
My day is filled with snacks, strategy meetings with Black Dog, and room checks to keep guard over all parts of the house.
Later, after hours and hours and hours of waiting on the stairs, I hear the first rattle of gravel. I raise my head to look down from my perch, about halfway up the steps, so I can see out the front door. False alarm. It’s the tall girl. She’s nice but not the real prize. I’ll bide my time in her company until Fran comes home. Now back to waiting.
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
