The Long Sleep

My dog sleeps. Too Li is a champion sleeper. An hour of exercise, a bowl of food, two reluctant trips to the back yard and unless something interesting plops down, sleep is in order. Bed by seven, under till noon. No Shit, really.
I hardly see her. She prefers to be stuffed into a wad of blankets and cooks in there, air-less, like a luau pig. I wonder how she breathes. I take her temperature by sqeezing her ears. When those begin to glow, she is comfortable.
She is going to hell. Everlasting fire? Really hot? Hell, let's go now. Gnashing of teeth? Hummins in distress? Hot Stuff! Where are they selling the tickets?
I believe that the Humongous Universal Tendency sends us messages. They are like dreams, significant and yet tenuous. Easy to ignore, undemanding. (Or not) I can't help but think that Too Li is one of those metaphorical illustrations sent by the Woo Woos. I get to interpret what the cipher reads.
No doubt, I love Too Li. All my friends do, too. And she loves them, I believe she knows how to love as most people love. She is unbelievably cute. Excuse me while I wilt, cute. Easy to love, with one exception.

Oh, what is this? You are up at Eleven? Go Pee! I just ushered her out the door. Must be breakfast time. I've had several cups of coffee and have watered the toilet more than twice. You back? Back from the pee break. Then on the couch, next to me, taking a doggie shower. Same as cats do. That's prep for a nap, I believe. Yup, since none of her friends have stopped by and the unemployed woodcutter isn't working, might as well take a nap.
I feel a nap coming on, myself.