My inheritance stares at me across the wooden barrier that I have erected.

My mom’s dog came to live with us not so long ago, and she has become my fuzzy shadow. When I sit in bed, she is at my feet.  When I am in my sewing room, she is at my feet.  When I open the bathroom door after my shower, she is waiting patiently.  The only time she isn’t beside me is when I am in the kitchen cooking.  I am not sure if that is self preservation because of the activity level and dancing, or being pushed out of the way by the constantly scrounging golden retriever, or because there isn’t anywhere comfortable to lie down and she can still keep track of me from the couch in the other room.  She tolerates separation overnight, but by 6:30 a.m. she is at the stair barrier making odd yawning whine noises letting us know she is awake. My morning exercises, that had been previously challenged because of the aforementioned golden retriever believing if I am on the floor I am obviously there for her pleasure, have become further hindered because of proximity dog who stands guard, pressed up against my side. Thus the barrier.

As I am finishing up with my stretches I am the focus of an earnest gaze and vaguely wagging tail…it is a little disconcerting being the focus of this level of devotion.