The Sunday is ending and I can feel it in my bones and also in the air and also in the way Gus is lying down but not really lying down because his ears are still listening for something that isn't coming tonight but might come tomorrow and I am pacing the hardwood because Sunday nights have this particular quality of almost-over that makes my paws restless and there is no good reason for this except that Monday exists somewhere just past the darkness and I can smell it approaching like weather and Mom is doing the Sunday things — closing laptop, turning off lights, saying things like “alright boys” but not the cookie version just the bedtime version and my tail is moving but not wagging exactly more like conducting some invisible orchestra that only plays on Sunday nights when the week is turning itself inside out and becoming the next week and Gus has accepted this transition with his usual dignity while I am here vibrating at a frequency that only other basset hounds would understand if there were any other basset hounds in this house which there are not just me and this feeling that Sunday nights are simultaneously ending and beginning and requiring immediate action though I cannot say what action exactly

#pawscarwilde

#sundaynightrestless