MIA

This is not a prompt...it is reasoning for why I haven't been writing lately. If you're not interested in my excuses, stop reading.
First, Hesston got sick with bronchitis, which had me staying home every day, babying him, and getting woken up several times a night from his coughing fits. It was scary for a while. I thought he was getting better, but then his cough took a turn for the worst, and my mommy intuition kept telling me to get him to the doctor (which I usually try to avoid, because I feel like I usually waste their time, because things turn out okay most times). But I am really glad I took him in. He is now doing much better (after 9 days of suffering), pretty much over his cough, and back to his normal, adorable self.
Then, I got sick. Well, it was about half way through the week, but it kept getting worse. It wasn't like the hit you hard, then slowly go away cold. It has been, come on slowly, change a couple different symptoms just to keep you guessing, then linger. I am quite done with it, but it's not done with me. So, I have been the one lying in bed, feeling like a beached whale and clogged toilet for the past week. Sad thing is, most people in our area are getting hit with the same thing, so we all feel each other's pain.
Well, I will hopefully get back to writing tomorrow. I miss it. It is my therapy. But for now, I am curling up in bed. Stay warm and healthy out there.

Write about a good discovery you have made

The floor is hard under my back, despite the extra thick cushioned carpet. My left arm is cramping under my side. I am not looking forward to rolling onto my back.
I slide the small, stuffed animal bear out from under my tummy and press my palm into the ground. The carpet is soft to the touch, if not a bit scratchy. Shifting my weight, I roll like a beached whale. My back pops in protest, my spine flattening under my bulged belly. Ah, much better.
I take a deep breath through my nose. Camphor mixed with Vicks Vapor Rub flavors the air. The smell makes me feel like a little girl again, and for a moment, I am transported back to my childhood bedroom, with My Little Ponies wallpaper, and pink bedspread. The memory fades as Hesston goes into a coughing fit. My body cringes as I listen. I wish I could take away his misery.
I'm half way there. Half way to the finish line of pregnancy, and today, at 8 am, I get to find out what I'm having. A boy or a girl. The anticipation has me wide awake. That, and the fact that Hesston needs him mama in his room for comfort since he's sick. The floor has been my best friend lately. It makes me much more thankful for my bed. After laying here for a couple nights, my bed is softer than the tops of clouds. Forget pillow top.
The baby begins to move. It's tiny limbs thump against my hands. Feeling the baby move is a miracle all on it's own. It's a sign of life. Something I won't take for granted.
The clock on the tabletop says 1:48 am. I wonder if I can sneak out without Hesston noticing. I doubt that, since I sound like a herd of elephants when I move. But I try it anyway.
Not only does my back pop, and my shoulder, and my knees as I maneuver a standing position, my neck decides to pop too, which sends a mild warning to my brain that a headache might follow. Great. I refuse to let this day go badly. I've waited for it for too long. 20 weeks is a long time when you're nauseous, tired, and grumpy.
An alarm wakes me from my drifting dreams. It's been that way most the night, but I figure it must be time to get up if the alarm is going off. After all, I asked Ted to set it at 7 am so we had plenty of time to get ready.
"Hello?" Ted answers the alarm. Wait, it's not an alarm...it's a work call. "Yes." He rolls over in bed and leaves the room.
I don't dare look at the clock. It's probably earlier than I wanted to get up. But maybe I should take this as a sign, and just do it, since I haven't been able to sleep much anyway. The anticipation has my mind running in circles, despite my body's sleep deprivation.
It's 6:35...not too bad.
I listen to Ted. He's trying to sound awake and alert, even though he just barely woke up. It makes me smile just thinking of how much he must be concentrating to stay up with the conversation. I wonder if he's awake. He'll have a full on conversation with me, and not remember a thing after he's woken up.
The curiosity drives me out of my warm sheets, into the cool morning air. The chill brings me to full awareness. There's no going back now.
Stumbling to the bathroom, I decide to take a shower. Maybe shave my legs. I have enough time to actually do those things now.
The shower is short lived, the water turning cold before I even get my shaver out. There's still conditioner in my hair, and I haven't rinsed the soap off my body. But it's only been 15 minutes, my mind complains under the cold spray. I make a mental note to ask Ted how big the water heater is, and if we can get a bigger one.
Goosebumps raise the hair on my arms and legs as I towel off. I try to hurry, but get more frustrated by the fact that my legs are worse than I thought. Good thing the ultrasound doesn't require me to take off any clothes, just expose my big, billowing belly.
Hesston's awake, I realize as I rush to the bedroom, needing clothes on to warm me up.
Ted has him sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast, already dressed.
"What time is it?" I ask as I sprint like a turtle across the house.
"7:04" Ted answers.
"What?" My 15 minute shower must've been longer.
"You about ready?" Ted rounds the corner. He's dressed and ready to go. So unfair.
I really hope this baby is a girl, just so that I can have someone that'll understand the stress of getting ready under an hour. "Almost."
We clamber into the truck 10 minutes later. My makeup is on. My hair is dry. My clothes are on. My breakfast is in my lap, ready to be eaten. And we're still on time. A small miracle.
The lady at the hospital checks us in and we head back to the labs/radiology area. There's already half the seats taken by the time we sit down. I didn't realize it was going to be this busy first thing in the morning. I comb my fingers through my hair, embarrassed that I ran out of time to straighten it. Maybe nobody will notice.
Hesston has Lightning McQueen and Blaze. His engine sounds roar across the room. Eyes turn toward us. I try not to react to the stares. I feel like a typical mom right now. Disheveled, and ready for a nap.
The ultrasound technician comes into the waiting room, calling my name. She approaches quickly, explaining that the machine is broken, and will take some time to fix. She asks us if we can come back after our doctor appointment at 10:45 am.
I stare at her. I really want to like her. Really. I do. She's got a very kind, round face. Her eyes are open and understanding. She's the type of person you can't dislike. But in this moment, I'm tempted to dislike her. So much that my hands begin to tremble in my lap.
I glance around the room. The other patients have expectant eyes on me. I can't have a meltdown now, in front of all these people, who are probably expecting it, seeming how I can't even do my hair for an appointment.
No! This can't be happening. The machine can't be broken. That's impossible. This is my day. My day. The day that I find out what I'm having. There will be NO problems. Nothing will ruin this moment. Not even the ultrasound machine. After all, if being up all night, taking a cold shower, having conditioner still in my hair, a full bladder, a sore back, and a headache coming on doesn't ruin my day, nothing will.
The tech stands there, waiting for our reply.
Words have left my vocabulary. Which is probably a good thing, because at this moment, all I feel is frustration. Red, angry, ugly frustration. An emotion I despise. I try to gulp it down, but it jumps right back up.
"No." The word pops out of my mouth. "My husband has to work."
"Can you come back another day, then?" She looks hopeful.
I shake my head. Open my mouth. Close it. Look at Ted. A few seconds tick by.
Ted's voice is much calmer than how I feel. "It's okay. We'll just do the 10:45 after our doctor appointment. I can just work a later shift today."
"Okay, great!" The technician looks relieved now. "We'll see you later."
I wonder if the confusion of what just happened is written all over my face. Ted reads it, ignores it, and pulls out his phone. He rapidly types a message, which I am sure is to his boss, letting him know what just happened. What did just happen?
My mind spins. No. No. No. No. No. We got here on time, even with a sick little 3 year old. We're ready (mostly). And we're going to find out what this baby is, today.
"Now what?" I ask, my mind numb.
Ted doesn't respond.
"What should we do? Stay here? Go home? Go somewhere? My appointment is at 9:15."
Ted still doesn't respond. He must be having just as hard of a time as I am.
"What do you think, Hesston? Do you want to stay here? Or leave for a bit?"
"Stay here!" His announcement is loud and clear, bringing more eyes, and probably ears.
"Well, we could just drive around." Ted's suggestion is music.
"Okay. Yeah. I don't want to get him exposed to more people if we don't have to."
After loading back up in the truck, I glance in the mirror. Bad idea. My hair is flat on the top of my head, then busheled out on the sides and bottles. I look like a witch who's lost her hat. I need to go home. Now.
"Take us home."
"Home?" Ted is more confused.
"Yes, home. We have an hour. I need to fix this." I point at my witch hair.
He nods. "Okay."
As we pull up to the house, he asks if he should just wait in the truck with Hesston. A slight giggle escapes.
"No, this will take more than a few minutes." I reply.
Back inside, my hair straightens better than ever. I send up a silent thank you to the heavens. Maybe conditioner in my hair isn't such a bad thing.
My phone rings just as I am about to head upstairs and get the boys gathered to head back to our appointment. It's the clinic. I answer.
They ask if I want to come in at 9:45 for the doctor so we don't have to wait so long between appointments.
I agree and hang up. To my delight, this gives us an extra half hour at home.
Hesston is playing with his cars, enjoying having mommy and daddy home. It's a treat for me too. But my head is pounding, so I curl up and lay down on some pillows on the floor next to where he's playing.
Ted and Hesston join me a couple minutes later. It's a bonding moment as we all curl up next to each other. I cherish this moment, because I know it won't be much longer until our world is shaken up with a new little one joining our lives. 
We're back at the office being ushered into the doctor appointment. Since I have the ultrasound right after, I've been drinking water all morning. The person who confirmed my appointment suggested a quart of water. I haven't peed since last night, and I've drank at least a quart this morning (being a good student). The urge to pee hits me like never before. I have a bladder like a camel, meaning I can hold it, no problem. But this is insane.
The black cushioned chair I'm sitting on becomes hard as rocks. It's also too square. I need something that doesn't angle my baby on my bladder. That has to be the problem.
I keep asking Ted for the time as we wait for the doctor to come in. 9:45. 9:59. 10:05. 10:09. 10:12. 10:14. 10:28. 10:33. 10:37.
I try standing up to see if that helps the ache in my abdomen. The sudden pressure makes me flex my thighs just to keep it in. Nope. That doesn't help. I ease back into the chair, using my arms to support most of my weight. If I used my stomach muscles, there'd be no more dry pants.
This can't be happening. Not now. I only have a few minutes left to this ultrasound and I'm not going to fail on my end. I will do what they've asked and have a full bladder.
The doctor finally comes in. She asks me 2 questions and then sends me to my ultrasound, saying she will tell the tech that I have a very full bladder (understatement of the year).
I have to recheck in for the appointment. As I push the door open to reenter the waiting room, my bladder begins to burn. Yes, burn. The pain is awful. I don't think I've ever felt anything like this before. I can imagine the fluid backing up into my kidneys, poisoning me and my body. A slow death.
The lady checking me in is nice, and tries to hurry (she notices that it asks for a full bladder and makes a joke about how I've probably been holding it all morning). She has no idea what pain I'm in.
I wobble into the labs waiting room. Back here again. At the scene of my near meltdown. As I lower into a chair, I have to sit on the edge.
"Ted, I'm going to pee my pants." I chant to him over and over.
He gives me a few sympathetic looks and words between taking some work calls and texts.
Hesston is fixated on the TV, which has some Real Housewives reality show on it. I cringe at the images and wish they would change the station to something more kid appropriate. If I wasn't afraid of peeing myself, I would march over to the window and ask for the remote. But I can't. I'm stuck. If I move, I lose.
The pain becomes too bad. I swear, the baby must be jumping up and down on my bladder, trying to get more room. I need more room. I get up and search for a bathroom. I go to the wrong hall, flip a U-turn and return to the waiting room.
Ted is following Hesston, who appears to be trying to catch up to me. I guess I was moving faster than normal.
"There's no bathroom down there. I will have to go back out front." I announce to Ted, and probably the whole waiting room.
Ted, being the problem solver he is, asks the receptionist where the closest bathroom is. She directs us to the right hallway. Thank goodness, it's in the waiting room, but the other hallway. The one I didn't check. Of course. Just my luck.
I rush to the bathroom, getting there just before my bladder explodes.
It's 10:50 by the time I get back to the waiting room. I ask Ted if they've called for me yet. He shakes his head, no.
A few minutes later, the sweet technician comes back into the room. She calls my name and I practically run to her. Hesston and Ted catch up at the ultrasound door's entrance.
She has me lay down, which is harder than it sounds. I find myself really having to think about still controlling my bladder as I relax onto the hospital bed. The bed is surprisingly comfortable. I wonder if it's due to my nights on the floor, or if this is typical. If so, I wouldn't mind a little rest and relaxation in one of these.
The pressure from the ultrasound is bearable, and I am so glad I went to the bathroom and drained some of my tank. I would've for sure peed my pants laying down, had I not.
She goes through a bunch of different measurements, labeling them with abbreviations. I try to decipher them as I watch. She's fast. Super fast. But not fast enough. The seconds tick by like minutes, and it feels like I've been laying there forever. The waiting is driving me back to my meltdown stage.
Keep it together. Keep it together.
"Mommy, you okay?" Hesston asks. "You're tummy hurt? You cold?" Ever the sensitive boy. "Baby in tummy? Hesston's turn?"
His questions distract me from how long this is taking.
I take a deep breath. It's as sterile in here as it is in the rest of the clinic.
 Ted voices his question. "So can you tell what it is?"
He must be just as bound up with anticipation as me.
"Yep. Just did."
Instead of telling us, she pulls up a picture. The label on the bottom pops up as:
"IT'S A BOY!!!"
Ted bursts into tears, and I am filled with joy. We're having a boy.
"You can go ahead and go to the bathroom now." The tech says in a very kind voice. "It's so full that it's hard to get good pictures for you to take home and display. So you can go and then come back and we'll get some pictures."
I laugh as I rush to the bathroom. So full...yeah right...should've seen it 15 minutes ago.
But all that pain, rush, and disappointment was worth it. Because in the end, we just got some of the best news. News that is life changing. We will never be the same.

Describe an object using all the senses except sight

The texture is cool to the touch. Smooth. Single layered. Light weight. But large. It's a fine fabric, woven with tiny strings and meticulous thought. There are no embellishments. No wrinkles or folds. Only a smooth linen. Stitched seams encase the perimeter, but are straight and small. The work of a skilled craftsman, or a well used sewing machine. The corners are at square angles. It's hard to tell, but probably square or rectangle in size.
The fabric smells of fresh detergent, like someone just washed it. It's not floral or soapy, but like a mountain breeze. Fresh, clean, and unspoiled. There is an earthy smell there too. Like the material came from the earth.
As I stretch the fabric, it doesn't stretch or make a sound. It is woven tight. The fabric is soft and doesn't give off a scratchy sound, because it's so smooth. The fabric is too large for me to try to make noise with. Although, if you had two people, you could probably snap it in the air between you, making wave sounds. I try to flip it in the air, and it makes the sound of ship sails flapping in the wind.
The texture is absorbent and as I lick it, the moisture from my tongue leaves it moist to the touch. It's tasteless. But if I had to guess, I'd guess it was cotton from the way it lays and absorbs the moisture.
Can you guess what the object I'm describing is?

When have you, or a character, experienced "Heaven on Earth"?

My heaven on earth happens every day.
"How?" You may ask.
I'll tell you. It's simple. Easy enough that most of us don't realize we are already living it.

"Good morning. How did you sleep?" I want to hear how he's doing. If he got enough sleep. If he needs anything from me. As a mom, I am ready to help in any way.
"Are you hungry?" A question that responds to his physical needs for growth and health.
"How can I help?" One of life's greatest questions, yet answerable in small amounts.
"Please don't do that, it could hurt you." Trying to help my little guy from being harmed. It applies to all aspects of his life, whether physical, spiritual, emotional, mental, or social.
"Take a moment and think about it, then tell me what you'd like to do." Giving my son choices, because he needs to learn how to make decisions now.
"How are you feeling?" Another need for well-being.
"Thank you for your help." Gratitude is the key to happiness.
"Please clean up after yourself." Hard work and responsibility never hurt anyone.
"Good job. Way to go." Little words of affirmation go a long way.
"Hold on tight, here we go." Life is full of unexpected circumstances. Best to learn how to go with the flow, and ride the waves instead of fighting them.
"I love you so much." Love is what makes the world go round. It is the center of the universe. It is the most important thing we, as human beings can feel, express, and give. It is the cure to all life's questions.
Words slip from my tongue each and every day as I try to help my little one learn how to live a long, productive, successful life.
Most of the time these words just pop out without thinking. Other times, I take  a moment to think what would be the best way to teach or help in a situation. But every time, it is to help in someway.
No, discipline is not easy, and it's a regular occurrence during those precious years of learning. But it's also necessary to teach that there is always a result after a decision or action.
This is my "heaven on earth". I create it every day. Because in heaven, we have parents who love us. They've given us tools to help us along our earthly journey, so we can return to them someday. The tools they've given us are simple, basic rules and facts of life. If we learn/teach the rules and follow them, we will be able to navigate life with more positive outcomes.
Of course, this doesn't mean our lives will be easier, we all experience trials that are enough to bring us to our knees. It's those moments that we become submissive and humble like a child, willing to ask for help and guidance.
Just watching my little one discover new things, he will try it on his own, and if he can't get it, he will ask for help.
It's no wonder we are admonished to be as little children, seeking the love and guidance of our Heavenly Parents, and, as we do, our lives will become much better, because we will discover who we are, why we are here on earth, and where we are going after this life. Those are the questions that most of us are seeking. We have the answers to those questions right in front of us, if we ask and seek for our loving Heavenly Father's guidance. He will answer, just as we, earthly parents, answer our children. Sometimes it may take time, because we want our children to learn as much as they can on their own before we step in to help. Other times the answers come right away, just like when we can see our help will benefit our children the most in that moment.
So each and every day, I am experiencing my own heaven on earth. I cherish it, because I feel like the precious children are already much closer in spirit to our loving Heavenly Parents, since they are so fresh from heaven. I try to foster that same love and refuge in my home, giving my little one the best opportunity to thrive and learn in a heaven-like environment, because too soon, he will be out in the world, which is cruel and harsh, and he will need that solid foundation to keep him from being swept away in the whirlwinds of society.

And this example is just from my current situation. Before we had kids, I created Heaven on Earth for Ted and I by loving my husband unconditionally.
And before him, I loved and saw others through God-like eyes. I tried to do my best to show my love for Heavenly Father, and when I did that, everything else fell into place. When we put God first, we see this life through His eyes. We become His hands. We are filled with hope, gratitude, happiness, and love. And that's the greatest blessing of all. Because no matter what our circumstance is, we have God by our side, and nothing can defeat Him.

How do you, or a character, act when you are afraid?

A sound wakes me. I don't move. I listen. And wait. Maybe it will happen again.
A few seconds tick by.
There it is. Tapping on something solid. Like thick glass, thicker than a window. The glass of the clothes washer. But why would there be tapping on the clothes washer?
I peel back the covers and slide out of bed. My husband sighs and rolls over as the movement tips the mattress to his side.
The cool air makes me shiver. I debate putting on the clothes that lie at the base of the bed, but that'll just take more time, and I'm curious about what's out there.
Tiptoeing across the hardwood floors barefoot, I try not to make a sound. My shallow breathing comes in and out. I squint and focus on the laundry door. It's cracked so I can't see all the way inside.
Should I approach from the hinges or the other side? My mental debate leads me to the opposite of the hinges. I stop and listen before peaking my head around the corner and flipping on the light. It's empty. The whole bathroom. Even the clothes washer.
I tap on the washer's glass viewing panel to see if the sound matches what I heard. It does. Exactly.
Confused, I glance around again. Did I miss something?
Not quite satisfied with my discovery, or non discovery, I go on a mission around the house, glancing out windows, checking doors. Everything is in order. Not a single thing out of place.
I decide to go back to the bedroom. There's no threat lurking, at least not one I can identify.
The sheets are cold, all my left over body heat evaporated. I snuggle in deep, curling up next to my husband. And listen.
Aside from my husband's even breaths, the house is silent. I say a quick prayer, and rest my head on the pillow, leaving our safety in the hands of the Lord.

What is the best excuse for being late you have ever heard?

I glance at my phone. It's eight o clock, almost bedtime for my toddler. He splashes and plays in the bath water, oblivious to the tension I feel.
"Momma?" His voice ricochets off the shower's tile walls. "Come. Sit. Play." He holds out a toy helicopter that "glides" across the surface of the water.
I take it and play with him, trying to distract myself from the fact that my husband said he was going to be home late this evening, probably around seven, and it's an hour later.
I haven't tried calling him. I'm not a wife to call or nag. I know that if he needs something, he will find a way to get it. Or find a way to get a hold of someone who knows how to help him. Or, worst case scenario, he will get a hold of me and we figure it out together. But usually, he is just fine on his own. After all, he is thirty five years old, and can take care of himself.
If we were first married and he was this late, I would be calling non-stop, freaking out on him. But after ten years of marriage, and him being late nine out of ten times, I've stopped asking when he's going to be home. I just know it is between five and seven at night. If on the off chance he is home early, it is like a mini-celebration. But, we have this trust bridge. I know he's busy working and doesn't need me bothering him all day. And honestly, it is so much more stressful for me to worry about what he's doing or where he's at, so I really don't care, just as long as he is safe and sound, it's all good.
I glance back at my son as I run the helicopter across the water for the third time. He's smiling and dunking his airplane under the water, yelling for help from the "copter".
Thank goodness I have this little guy to keep me entertained.
A door slams. I know it must be the hubby because he's the only other one with keys to the house.
"Uh, oh! Who is it?" He shouts from the entry.
My little guy gasps. "Daddy?" He stage whispers. His eye brows are raised, his cheeks red from the warm bath water, and his hair is a messy, wet mop of curls. His eyes hold a sparkle that only a daddy can bring.
"Uh, oh! Who is it?"
"Daddy!" This time my toddler's shout comes loud and clear.
"Hesston!" His daddy shouts back.
They repeat each other's names until they unite with their nightly hug. It's the most adorable ritual, and all my anxiety melts away as the two of them embrace. All is right in the world again. My little family is all under the same roof. Safe. Happy. Loved.
After the reunion, Daddy sits down on the floor next to me with a deep sigh. His arms wrap around my middle, followed by a wet kiss (also a nightly ritual) on my cheek. I squirm and pretend to be grossed out, but really, I love his affections.
"Sorry it took me so long to get home." A pause. "First, I had to go to the office and pick up some paperwork, then I had to deliver it to the rig manager, then I had a safety meeting, then I had to pick a guy up and give him a ride from the rig to the airport, which took longer than expected, and I had some reports and emails to catch up on, so I took some time doing that, then I had to pick up some stuff from Walmart, and then finally made it home. Not all in that order, but you know what I mean, I've had a busy day."
It's true. He's been up since four in the morning, going from the time his feet hit the ground. I don't know how he does it all, still managing to come home with energy for me and the little one. If it were me, I'd be passed the point of walking. I would be crawling to the bed, pleading for everyone to let me sleep.
His reason for being late is always a little different, but consists of his day's accomplishments. I can't complain. I won't. Because, even though he's late, he's home. And he gets to be home every night. And he works with wonderful people. Wonderful people he loves and respects. He loves his job. It's custom fit for his personality. It has been the biggest blessing in our lives, because not only has it brought a wonderful living, it has rewarded us with wonderful people we get to associate with. The thing we've learned about living and working in North Dakota is, it's the people that make it so great.
I remember Ted telling me that no matter where you live, you will always find good people. It's just a matter of what kind of people you're looking for and surrounding yourself with. This statement has always rang true, and we cherish every friendship we've gained from our different moves.
So no matter the reasoning for being late, it's always good. Legit enough to make me just be thankful for a husband who works hard. Who understands the responsibility of being a provider, and is blessed enough to have a job that provides for his family so I can stay home. Each and every day, it's a reminder to be thankful for those we love and to cherish them. Because it's always better to be late than never.

Describe the first day in your, or a character's, life.

First moment of freedom
It's a collar. And not just any collar. A bright pink one, unlike the regular black ones they have for us to wear whenever they take us out for walks. The person carrying the collar walks past the first kennels, heading in my direction. Can it really be? Is it finally my day? My day to leave this place and never return?
I circle the back of my kennel, a new energy pulsing in my veins. I haven't felt this type of excitement since the last colored collar was carried into the room. It was placed around a tiny Pomeranian's neck, who had only been at the facility a couple days. The rest of us felt betrayed, almost like we'd done everything we could to be good and presentable, but still, we were over looked.
Well, most of us are on good behavior. There's the one in the back who could care less if he ever left. He actually likes it here, on the cold concrete floor that digs into our elbow joints. He likes the bland, cheap food. The chain-link fences. The separation from humans. And other animals. We're all too afraid to ask for his story, but if the scars on his face tell anything, it's that he's had a rougher life than we've known.
The scape of metal on metal brings me to a halt. I lift my head to identify where the sound is coming from.
My kennel's door latch is being lifted. Freedom begins to flow through the open gate. I can almost feel it, taste it. My mouth salivates as I trot forward and rest my head in the waiting lady's hands.
She gives me a few long pets from my head to my shoulders before she kisses my nose. "We're going to miss you, Sugar. Hope your new owner loves you as much as we do."
I don't know what she's talking about, but I respond to her soft words, placing my nose in her lap.
The collar encircles my neck. The weight, comforting. It grounds me, pulling me down from the cloud of happiness I'm floating in.
It's my turn. My turn to be free. As happy as I am for this moment, a strange sadness tugs at me, beckoning me to stay.
I glance around the other kennels. There's so many of us, all waiting for the same thing, to have a family take us home, give us love and a new life of belonging. But once we pass through the swinging doors, there's no turning back. No room for failure. We never return to see our kennel friends again. Our time together is over.
The woman attaches a leash to the collar and gives it a tug. I follow, just like I've been taught. She gives me a few more pats as we head toward the doors, like she's relishing our last moments together as much as I am.
I wish I had more time to say goodbye. To give one last lick to my friends. But before I know it, the swinging doors have closed behind me and I'm greeted by the blinding light of the sun.
A man squats in front of me. He has hair as black as my coat. He opens his arms as if to greet me. I look up at the lady who holds my leash. She offers words that sound encouraging. Glancing back at the man, I see a tender face, a smile that knows happiness. I cling to that as I step into his arms. He rubs my neck, enthusiasm seeping from his fingertips. His voice is tender as he whispers my name into my ear.
This is my new home.