White Dog's gentle discomforts in the night cause instant awakeness with a functioning mind. Not so much last night as first I thought I was dreaming the squeaky song and slowly stumbled through my mental fog to puzzled alertness in the dark. Why was I hearing someone playing with a toy; it was 3:30 in the morning. And where the heck was Opal?
I sat up and peered into the bedroom darkness. Roman was in bed; Bailey in her own crate; Zsofia stretched out and snoring. The sound was coming from outside of the dog door on the deck.
"Do you hear it, too?" Steve asked. "I think Opal is out on the deck PLAYING," I told him. He sighed as he went to the door to call her in; she kept chewing the squeaky. "Come on, Opal, it is time to sleep, not play. Come to bed," I called her. For an obedient moment My Sparkling Girl came in and took refuge with Zso. "You can't make music now, you will wake everyone," Steve told her and put the toy back in the play area.