“Rough” I hear this morning, face down in my latex pillow, ebbing and flowing in a sea of peculiar late sleeping dreams. Mostly ebbing.
“Ruff” I hear again.
Ah, Rigby the Gordon beckons assistance with a single staccato bark.
“Ruff!” He says.
This request is for immediate assistance. The fact that it is just a single bark means while he desires you presently attending his request, no one thing is in imminent danger. Once you attend, he will provide further instruction: my ball is under the treadmill; my bowl needs more water, the other bowl, duck and kibble; or, my rope is tangled under my camping chair. (He has his own. Once at his side, Rigby provides further instruction with a combination of nose pointing, bright eyes intently asking for help, then immediately looking at the problem he confidently thinks you can solve. His initial problem today–I am pleasantly face down drifting in dreams. Luckily for me there are two of us in this Dictator’s court to solve his second problem.
The other responds, already up making coffee on the camp stove. The aroma of freshly brewed espresso coffee washes me up on the shore of late morning dreams. Ready to face a relaxed day camping in Alberta, I pour coffee and look out the door – Rigby is curled up in his camping chair, tucked up beside the other subject, who is reading her latest novel find.
I see this morning’s request for assistance was for a chair move–into the sun, problem satisfactorily resolved without my assistance.
I get my coffee and move into the same sun.
Dogs. “Ruff.” Love ’em.