So I stagger out of bed, and Loki runs a small circle in excitement. Open the bedroom door and she runs to the sliding back door and waits expectantly for me to hobble up. Patience, dear one. I pull the door open. She puts her head out and sniffs.
It's chill and wet. A mist obscures the neighbor's house and yard and the funny little handmade fountain created out of a Home Depot koi pond mounted on a post and surrounded by soft everchanging lights. The wood of the deck is dark and wet. Metal and plastic glitters from a million tiny droplets. Loki stares out over all this and sniffs some more. Her tail lowers.
I open the door a little wider and take half a step outside. A little encouragement and Loki gingerly hops down the two steps to the deck, takes a few more steps then turns and looks at me with big brown eyes full of misery. Then she trots back into the house and back to the bedroom and hops back into bed. This day sucks, she says, and burrows under the covers.
In the fuzzyache aftermath of a single shot of Old Overholt straight rye whiskey, I'm ready to agree with her.