I sat up in bed. It was two a.m. The room was pitch black, but I felt Dawg shift on the bed beside me, and heard his necklace tinkle. I went to my door, which is always open so Dawg can get to his water dish in the kitchen, and went through into the living room. Moonlight cast the room in a silvery glow. In the middle of the room was Dawg’s bed (the one he uses when I’m watching TV). He was laying on it.
Okay, that was a little spooky. Obviously I’d made an error in thinking Dawg was in my bed, although I’d been absolutely certain that something had been in bed with me. And that something was wearing a dog tag. I know that sound. I decided it was better if I didn’t think too much about that, so I went into the kitchen and got a drink of water.
Going back through the living room, I stopped a moment to say goodnight to Dawg, and went back through the door into my bedroom. I sat on the bed in the dark., and tentatively reached out to the spot where my faithful companion usually sleeps. My hand met fur. As I withdrew my hand, feeling really creeped out, Dawg shoved his head into my palm for an obligatory head scritch. Yep, it was Dawg alright.
At that point I started to get up and go look in the living room again, but I remembered the sage wisdom of Foghorn Leghorn and decided it was better if I didn’t look. After all, what was I going to do if he was there?