Mornings aren’t my thing. Never have been. I like to sleep in, especially on the weekends—earned that right after the life I’ve had. I wasn’t always a house dog, you know. I’ve seen things out there, back when I was a stray. Cold nights, empty stomach, having to keep one eye open at all times. That kind of life makes you tough, and it makes you protective.
So when I finally dragged myself out of bed today, I poked my head out of the sliding door to check on my people. First thing I saw—Peanut and Emma out there in the thick of the plants. Big leaves, shadows moving, places where trouble could hide. Peanut’s small, easy to lose track of in all that greenery. I don’t care how jungly it looks—I’m watching.
I might look grumpy in the mornings, but that’s just because I take my job seriously. If anything tries to sneak through those plants, they’ll have to get through me first. I’ve handled worse.
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