September 7, 2016

White Dog jumped up on the bed. Zsofia and Sachi and Steve were already there. "Don't bother to get out of bed," she groused, "it is grey and heavy and humid and every movement feels like swimming through jello."

"Good morning to you, too, Little White Dog of My Heart!" I kissed her forehead. "It doesn't seem hot at least." She WAS right, the air and sky colors were sort of sleep inducing. "Come on! Everybody up! We have breakfast to eat; things to do." The White Dogs moaned and stretched. Nilla came out of her crate; YoYoMa groggily walked around from the other side of the bed; Opal sighed as she exited Zso's little room.

It was a lackluster attitude that kept the song to the mailman almost a ballad and supervisory comments about breakfast prep short. No one but White Dog turned down breakfast but the meal was hardly a Start of the Day Event.

Then the White Dog Army sank into their mass impersonation of torpid sparrows...

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