Dog catcher

I'm sitting at the kitchen table all afternoon, working on school work with my laptop. Every so often Allegra comes to check on me. She nudges me for a pat on the head or brings me her bone to throw. I happily comply. I like working in this spot because I can look out the window. Occasionally I catch one of the dogs rolling in the grass, the sun on their belly. It makes me smile.

Afternoon turns to dusk and I watch the light fade from the sky. I finally decide to take a break. I turn around and walk five feet, into the darkened living room. I see an indistinguishable mass on the couch and I turn on the light. It's Allegra, looking like a kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar. She knows she's not supposed to be on the couch and she's waiting to see what wrath I will hurl her way. I'm too taken aback from her boldness to do much more than have her stay until I take her photo and send it to her daddy. "Just you wait until your father gets home, young lady!" I want to say. After all, I was less than 10 feet away with my back turned when she decided the no furniture rule didn't apply to her. She must have known she would get caught, but somehow she didn't care. Maybe she was trying to tell me that I was too wrapped up in my work to notice what she was doing. Now she's been noticed, now she's been caught and now she slinks off the couch and into the hall, where she'll wait for Doug to come home.