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Peanut-butter crackers

Peanut-butter crackers

Two peanut-butter crackers sat waiting on the kitchen counter as a cool, fall night, blanket of air descended.  Supper was finished, dishes done, counters wiped. 

Outside the stoop in the last slivers of light, the dogs played a nightly game of tug-of-war with a long, rugged, old stropping strap, while anticipating the squeak of the screen door.  It happened.  Silhouetted by the dining hall light, she stood quietly in the doorway.  The dogs sat at attention, awaiting the signal.  With a flick of the hand, the ok signal, the dogs  launched like rockets up the steps, landing on the linoleum, toenails scraping frantically for traction to immediately round the corner to the right, and crash enthusiastically into their awaiting crates, ending in a firm, expectant sit.  The reward, a peanut-butter cracker, each.  Best part of the day.  The crate door was shut, and the canvas pulled down, adding warmth and darkness to their dens. 

The house on Popcorn Road gave itself a hug, sealing little gaps and cracks from the cool, humid night air, tucking in for the night.  In the darkness, the dogs looked up, then went to the business of sleep.

 


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