We lay on the floor together, my Zoe and I, in front of the glass door. A refrigerator hums in the background while a TV plays softly; white noise. The drips from the eaves are a steady plunk, plunk, plunk. Cardinals sing their song repeatedly with a crow cawing a chorus. Poplar leaves rustle in the gentle breeze and two birds fly high over the tall evergreen. A lone mosquito, flies back and forth. We watch Friday morning go by, my pup and me, her breath to mine.
No Cushings, no drugs, no illness. Just us. Just a Friday morning.