Holy dogo, I am old!

Holy, dogo i am old! It’s official. the large dog with brown eyes and a beard recently gone white sitting by the side of the bed tilted his head, to the left then quickly to the right. Seriously man, it’s true. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His feet flat on the warm carpet. His palms on the mattress and one, two , three – standing. He hobbled in the dark down the hall to bathroom. Walking stiff legged and slightly bent. Felling like a bowstring just starting to be pulled. Yoga, I should do yoga, was a thought that Kay amongst the other jetsam on his minds beach at two am under a full moon. He lurched back down the hallway, stepping over the dog curled in the threshold of the doorway, half his body inside and half his body outside the room. You can sleep all week spread eagle, the whole bed to yourself, his wife had said, the morning two days ago on her way out the door for a commuter flight to Huston where she would be for three days for a project kickoff. And though it sounded great, like it always did, and though he smiled when she said it, he knew it fidn’t work that way, at least for him. And although he gained a night of not being pushed, and punched and told to roll over, or adjust his head, or leave the bedroom because he’s snoring, he also loses a night missing their oresence, missing her soft breath and the smell of her hair, and her touch in the middle of the night, in the middle of sleep, her soft fingers momentarily on his chest, a subconscious checking he is still here.