Dog-Tired

Down for the count: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7pm. Walked, fed, pooped-like a dog. Panting and ready to flop on a cold floor, wag a tail in contentment, but only once or twice for lack of energy or necessity otherwise. I am a golden retriever (as if there were any other dog I could be.) My strawberry-blonde fir and wisps of my hair wave in the artificial breeze of the ceiling fan. Drifting off into doggy dreams, maybe twitching while chasing a rabbit, sniffing at lampposts or my personal favorite – dreaming about sleeping. My tongue lounges out of my mouth, my breath unforgivable, dead to the world except for my eyeballs darting behind closed lids. Something very interesting must be going on behind those eyes. This is what it looks like to be dog-tired.