I’m washing dishes this early morning, pots and pans left from last night’s dinner. Katie observes me and, deciding I’m going to be there awhile, settles down on her rug in the breakfast room, in front of the door to her deck. She loves to survey her yard from that vantage point, but this morning she’s sleepy, tummy full of breakfast.

Her mind wants to keep an eye on the birds, keep watch for squirrels, but her body is determined to take a nap. I watch her eyes slowly close, then blink open, then close again. Her head starts to bob.

I stop washing dishes and stand there memorizing her.

As if she feels me watching, her eyes pop open and she gives me a side-eyed glance, checking to see if I noticed her dereliction of duty. I stay motionless. She relaxes and her eyes slide closed again, head still held high.

I tiptoe away, back to the living room to get the camera. Taking the lens cap off and turning back to the kitchen I am surprised by a little fuzzy girl standing right behind me, head tilted, watching.

“Whatcha doing mama?”

Sharp as a tack, this one.

My old girl.