It was after midnight when I finished brushing the old dog. She was laying on the carpet in front of the couch, and the couch was where the cat was laying asleep. She didn’t like to be brushed but only wanted her stomach scratched with my fingers, and my fingers running through the fur on her back and sides and scratching along the flanks of her thin legs. But I used the brush to take away her summer coat.
Outside, coyotes yipped in the clearing across the street where the hydro lines run, and the old dog raised her eyes a bit, shifted her brows a bit and focused, but there were no more yips so she closed her eyes again. She let out a sigh. The furnace fire blew up and forced dry air through the ducting. I sniffed when my nose started to bleed.
Outside, a moon that was full just a night ago rose waning above Grotto Mountain. It lit the valley but with shadows. Earlier in the day I heard the music from the reserve near here. I watched them dancing and cried when I remembered their love of the mountains.