Charlie and Ginsu Wake up the House

Each day begins around 6
with what my mother calls
"the thundering hooves of the buffalo"
as they stampede from blanket-nested dogbeds
in the garage up two flights
and into her bed.

Surprisingly loud paw-thumping
rumbles past my bedroom door.
A streak of brown and a slower blur of white.
They aren't used to me being home,
otherwise they might stop in for a wake-up.

Dad has come back
from his morning walk
and lovingly surrendered
years of no dogs on the bed.

Their marriage has evolved
into no dogs under the covers,
which is well-respected law,
as the fleas and fur clearly outweigh
the benefits of the wriggling lumps in the blanket.