06-12-2009, 04:00 AM
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300+
When her dadda smiled, the girl smiled too, an immediate natural thing as if the father and daughter were speaking a silent language. Her tail wagged with more definition, and when her father invited her over, those stubby legs made choppy steps that slowly covered the distance despite their fast movements. She took a small leap into his lap, her back legs clawing lightly at her father’s thigh as she pushed herself up to sit with him. She sniffed nosily: her dad’s scent was a comfortable one. The dual coloured eyes looked up—she loved it when he called her sweetie. When her dadda explained that he could not sleep, the creamy daughter decided that that must be why he had seemed sad. Sometimes she was sad when she was tired and couldn’t sleep too—then she’d whine saying that she wouldn’t sleep and didn’t need to because it was time to play. But somehow sleep always took over. Maybe it was the same with grown ups too.
"Nos," she whispered, almost matter-of-factly, to her father’s question. "I wakes up by myself!" And she said it as if it were the grown up thing to do. She smiled up at him, her stubby tail wagging against his stomach. There was a brief silence as Amata’s gaze turned from her father’s face to the book. Sitting up, she leaned her paws on his knees. "What’s yous readin’, Dadda?" Her head tilted curiously as she watched the book as if expecting it to leap forward and play with her. Then, as it was with little children, she suddenly lost her footing and fell to the floor with a soft, muffled squeak. That hurt her nose! A quiet whimper came from her as her paws came to cup over her muzzle, big tears welling up in her eyes. But she didn’t cry even though it did smart.
300+
When her dadda smiled, the girl smiled too, an immediate natural thing as if the father and daughter were speaking a silent language. Her tail wagged with more definition, and when her father invited her over, those stubby legs made choppy steps that slowly covered the distance despite their fast movements. She took a small leap into his lap, her back legs clawing lightly at her father’s thigh as she pushed herself up to sit with him. She sniffed nosily: her dad’s scent was a comfortable one. The dual coloured eyes looked up—she loved it when he called her sweetie. When her dadda explained that he could not sleep, the creamy daughter decided that that must be why he had seemed sad. Sometimes she was sad when she was tired and couldn’t sleep too—then she’d whine saying that she wouldn’t sleep and didn’t need to because it was time to play. But somehow sleep always took over. Maybe it was the same with grown ups too.
"Nos," she whispered, almost matter-of-factly, to her father’s question. "I wakes up by myself!" And she said it as if it were the grown up thing to do. She smiled up at him, her stubby tail wagging against his stomach. There was a brief silence as Amata’s gaze turned from her father’s face to the book. Sitting up, she leaned her paws on his knees. "What’s yous readin’, Dadda?" Her head tilted curiously as she watched the book as if expecting it to leap forward and play with her. Then, as it was with little children, she suddenly lost her footing and fell to the floor with a soft, muffled squeak. That hurt her nose! A quiet whimper came from her as her paws came to cup over her muzzle, big tears welling up in her eyes. But she didn’t cry even though it did smart.