The sleeping dog. All furred twitches and rumblings. Unconscious lift of nose exposing rotted tooth. Still. Gentle dog of the house, wild hateful thing out on the roads of runners and bicyclists. Is his hour up? Age or civil punishment accorded to the fanged indulgence of base impulses upon sight of pumping sneakers or squeaking of spoked rubber? Dog sleeps on his bed and steals his leg space. Grumpy still silent unmoving when his legs complain with subtle nudges that soon lose their subtlety. Dog. Old. Doesn’t care. Sleep is mandatory. Age-earned right to rest weary bones. Dog. Not-pup. Old tongue stroking old paw. Licks in the night. Waiting for loved master to put away pen and paper and to turn down the light. Bright. Disturbing canine ocular facilities best delegated to pursuit of dreams. Dog’ll gets his wish when his master finishes this sentence.