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Morning Rise by Pup Pike

Don’t move.

‘Cause if I don’t move, I can lie here, curled up tight.

Don’t move.

‘Cause if I don’t move, I can feign, for one more second, that I have paws.

Don’t move.

But I know it’s time. My pup bed, soft as it is, can’t hide the harsh dawn streaking through the blinds. I turn and stretch, willing my muscles to cramp as they recover from the curled ball they were in. I yawn, and my jaw stretches against the fabric. It reminds me that pups don’t speak, they yip and yap, bark and whine, sniff and growl. I suck in a deep breath and let out a yip and a howl, high-pitched and long.

Bark! Bark!

The neighbor’s dog is up. Must’ve heard me. I guess it was the dog bowl I heard scraping around earlier outside the window. Man, I wish I had a dog bowl of my own for food. Need to text that to my handler.

I get on all fours then drop my haunches and shoulders back and down. My knees and hips now fully bent, a good stretch for my quads; my shoulders and elbows now stretched in front, a good stretch of my pecs.

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

Alright, time to get my bone. I saunter over to the corner and bend down. The leather, worn by endless gnawing, still has its spring in my mouth, and I bite down.


And that sets me wagging, my tail thwapping my hips as it moves.

If only this could last forever. But time for work now.

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