The Good Hound Notebook

The low-light signs I take more seriously now

I used to think of evening as merely the time to turn on the lamp by my reading chair and finish the chores. Now I see it as a diagnostic window.

The difference between a soft blink and a long stare

I stood by the kitchen counter this morning, waiting for the kettle to boil, and watched the light move across the floorboards. Mabel was in her usual spot, curled against the back door, her breathing slow and steady.