Do Your Business.
The world sparkles. The night is dark but stars shine bright. A deep yawn catches me by surprise.
My lungs crystallize. I hold my breath to ease the pain.
Frozen tundra crunches underfoot. Okay, it’s just snow, but in my grumbling mind, it’s tundra.
“Hurry up. This is ridiculous.”
We wander through the woods. The high moon laughs at me. I can almost hear it.
“What is your problem?”
I can’t believe I’m out here.
There’s no way on God’s green earth I’d be outside in the middle of the night for anyone.
But the earth isn’t green and our new pup has needs. And a walnut-sized bladder.
“You’re starting to really annoy me. Get done with it.”
He’s particular about the where and when of his toileting.
Leaning against a tree for warmth, I find none. Bark bites my cheek.
My fingers hurt.
Next time, I’ll bring gloves, but we’re not going back for them now. Not yet.
“Do what you need to do. Come on.”
I slip on a patch of ice. That’s it. I’m going to break my tailbone, I just know it.
This night and I are not friends.
We’re going in.
I pause, looking up, bound by the sight.
The stars have never been so bright. Everyone should see this sky.
I’ll wake them up, bring them out.
Cold beauty sparkles through the branches. I catch my breath.
Frigid air ices my lungs once again. I cough.
He finds the perfect spot, and does his business.
We step into the house. Warmth.
I don’t wake anyone.
Maybe tomorrow night.