Beasts of Bother

The dogs like to bother me when I'm writing.

The white beasts hover, waiting for a free hand to touch them.

They hover around me, lying at my feet or resting a head on my leg. A heavy sigh fills the room. It triggers another. They aren’t content to sleep in the air-conditioned house as I attempt to make the story I dreamed the night before become sentences of sense. They nose me or lick my foot. Pet me, they say. Pet me. Leave those characters alone.

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