I have dreams about familiar places and houses that only exist in dreams. The people there are dream folk, appearing only in certain dreamscapes, never cross-pollinating in the night, and this is the way it has always been. But fatigue lessens clarity, and I have only flashes of the space and time of the dream. I awake a few hours before the dogs, and I listen.

Lilith Anne snores, old and fading; her body is like an ancient engine, still running, with fuel and will, but her time on earth can not be long, and she will not suffer. Wrex Wyatt is in the chair curled up, breathing deeply, easily, and strongly. Near my left leg, a small, soft, warm spot is silent in the darkness. But the night is not still.

Coyotes begin their yammering, the sounds echoing through the woods, skating across the pond, skipping from lily pad to lily pad, snaking around the ground quickly, whipping and winding around every tree trunk, and this awakens Wrex. But just as suddenly, the noise stops, Wrex puts his head down, and he sleeps again.

The warm spot near my leg moves up and towards my face silently until the purr begins, loud, rumbling down through the mattress of the bed and up again. Was it a coyote who almost killed Aqaba? There is real fear in his body language. I pull his body to mine and put an arm around his tiny body. The purring grows louder.

The rain has pushed the pond deep into the woods, flooding the trail entirely on the east side and isolating the path to and from the house. Coyotes are creatures of paranoia and surety and would not come into an area so closed and narrow now. Budlore Amadeus is large enough to be proof against one and loud enough to stand down more. No, too many dog teeth, too much barking, too much to lose and little to gain, accountants in their pack point their noses elsewhere.

But Aqaba Thomas pushes closer to me, his purrs strong and his volume up. Is this the first time in his life there has been true safety? Is this his primary experience with a guardian, inside a home, and comfort? The purring eases away, and the pack sleeps again.

Take Care,

Mike