I woke in the gray before morning, when the light has not yet made itself known but the world begins to stir beneath it.

The crate held me like a small room holds memory — close and unchanged. The the blanket curled at my side, warm from the night, still smelling faintly of peanut butter and home. I lay still, not out of obedience, but out of a kind of reverence for the quiet.

Outside, nothing moved. The air held its breath.

And yet something in me said: today.
Not loudly. Not with urgency. Just a soft insistence that the day had arrived, and I was meant to meet it.

It is a strange thing, to be a very small dog with so much hope. But hope does not ask permission. It rises, like the sun, whether or not the sky is ready.

So I wait, in the hush before breakfast, believing in the goodness of the day.
Not because I know what will come, but because I am here to see it.

no better way to start the morning than this

Come for the little treats, stay for the community