Should probably write this down...

...my conscience tells me to write this down. I wake up.

"Ughhh..."

There's shuffling. The clock is teasing me. It's much too early to do anything. I smack my lips. Remember, what's tonight's story?

My thoughts:

"There's a lake. A familiar lake? No. There's a dog. My dog. Hi, dog. Name's Cloudie.

His name is Odie, but he's gone blind and now has cloudy eyes. Thus the nickname, Cloudie.

I'm on the lake's beach sitting in a sun-lounger. And a fishing pole...reel...whatever is dug into the sand next to my chair. I don't even fish in real life.

Real life, what am I thinking?

Cloudie has a leash which is knotted around the pole.

Cloudie needs a leash because he cannot wander off in unknown minds because he'll get lost because he's blind. Also, Cloudie does not like his leash although he understands that his human feels like he needs it for safety.

The leash is gaining slack, and Cloudie emerges from the lake shallows with a small rainbow trout. And he's dripping and his breath stinks. I see that Cloudie unsuccessfully opened the trout for its meat. That must be my job now. I take the fish from his stanky mouth and work the fish. Here you go, Cloudie. I give him some trout meat to eat. He moves in for seconds, then begs, then whines.

Cloudie pleads, begs, and whines because he is spoiled. He's gone through a lot. He's a pound dog who lived on the streets his first three human years; he's also tough because of this. Now and again he'll quarrel with the neighborhood ecosystem, mostly porcupine. My mom's a quilter and Cloudie loves my mom. Hence, Cloudie loves quilting thus Cloudie loves needles. Therefore, if Cloudie loves needles then he must love porcupines. I tell him not to quibble with them, but he can't help it. And I won't stop him because he's spoiled.

I throw some meat in the lake for fetching. Cloudie gobbles all of it and rushes back.

I have an idea.

I take some slack from the fishing pole and attach a hook, then place some meat on the hook. I untie the leash. I let Cloudie smell the fish. He breathes deeply, exhales, and I cast the pole. Cloudie thoughtlessly takes off for it, but he doesn't care because there's no leash. Little time passes and Cloudie returns. I happen to be reeling in a large prize, too. Cloudie and I give one another puppy smiles. And there's a hook in his cheek. I remove the hook, and he stays by my side."

"Ugh..."

There's shuffling. Time passes. There's wheezing. It's much too early to do anything.