d o g s

It was freezing. Her lips were blue. Everything was numb.

It was warm. Too warm, and the jostling of the staggered steps kept him from sleeping.

Soft cries, from one of them- maybe both of them- were lost in the screaming blizzard winds. She fell against a rock, shifting around so it blocked the gale, and dug shaking fingers into the warmth of the blanket inside her coat. She was out of food, out of hope, and out of her mind.

But the child was still alive.

So she grit her teeth, screamed, and stood up.

Back into the blizzard.
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He hadn't been born yet. He was on his way, though. In one week, maybe sooner, he'd be living the good life.

Crying, sleeping, pooping, and being ignored by his father. He couldn't wait.

And he would find love, in the form of a too-warm baby held by a dying girl.