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| Tom and Corleone, January 2011 |
I love to watch my dog sleep.
More honestly, I enjoy watching him fall asleep.
There is a window between full-on and completely off that is both brief and mysterious.
He stretches out first, and then those big brown eyes take a few rolls around the room.
Everything quiet? All in order? Can I see the door?
Am I dominating a sufficiently inappropriate piece of real estate at the end of, or in the middle of, someone’s bed?
The eyes get very heavy. So heavy.
Like a stone.
Flutter. Twitch.
Fight it.
Close.
Nose gets a little dry.
A long sigh.
Ear flaps down.
Out.
This is a living example of peace on earth.
It takes about seven minutes.
Sometimes I will sit there with him, or lay next to him.
That’s when I notice how, somehow, every hair is in place, as if combed by a woman before bedtime.
How I wish I could fall out of reality so quickly.
How I wish my mind could unspool itself from the day to day like that.
They say dogs don’t have a conscience and don’t care about time.
Horse shit.
They know good and bad, right and wrong. They have only mastered, unlike their masters, how to put their conscience to bed.
This particular model also comes equipped with an internal clock that wakes me up every morning at 6 a.m.
I draw most of my stuff early in the morning, or late at night, because I am usually wide awake.
Keep me up at hankbonesman@embarqmail.com or willstom01@gmail
I draw most of my stuff early in the morning, or late at night, because I am usually wide awake.
Keep me up at hankbonesman@embarqmail.com or willstom01@gmail
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