The scoop hits the kibble bin and Gus is suddenly, miraculously, alert. Friday mathematics are in motion.

Seven hours remain until the freezer opens and delivers what belongs to us. The marrow smell will reach me before the door fully swings wide — cold, mineral, unmistakably ours. I have calculated the remaining daylight, factored in dinner schedules, accounted for the inevitable delays. The number holds steady: seven hours.

Gus has already returned to his sofa. He trusts the system implicitly. I admire this about him, though I prefer a more hands-on approach to time management.

The sun is threading through the junipers now, casting those long morning shadows across the hardwood. Three degrees and clear — the kind of morning that suggests the world is finally organizing itself properly.

Seven hours. The countdown begins in earnest.

#pawscarwilde

#frozenbonefriday