First foggy morning

Wednesday March 13

I'm at a cafe, he's pacing his room. Now he's at the door, scratching. Shit, I hope wendy doesn't hare and get upset. She's on this killer deadline. Now he's sitting at the door, just sitting. for minutes at a time. He yawns, keeps sitting. Finally he lies down, at the door, waiting.

We had an hour walk this morning around the neighborhood. It was foggy and cold. His first fog! He didn't notice. We had a lot of short and successful dog encounters. Even the encounter with the heavily perfumed, heavily made up, hyper well dressed (certainly in comparison to me, who has decided on "dog clothes" - a large wool coat, a grey hoodie, baggy sweats) elderly woman with the two small dogs, who i would usually avoid - was just a tail wagging session, even when the tiny dachsund barked he didn't seem aggravated.

I'm on the couch alot these days because of my back - a frustrating, humiliating experience to be hurt once again - and Baxter sleeps next to me, on a blanket I put down. He talks in his sleep, once barked, and twitches and whimpers and kicks. I don't know if he's having running dreams - the only way to be free in a cage - or bad dreams. Sometimes I put my hand on him very softly, and he wakes up in increments, the kicking slowing, his voice quieting and he looks up and I say, You're okay, now, boy, You're okay.