Whispered Prayers

by Alex Grayson

Gigi, my black lab mix, trots behind me to the kitchen. Once I set the bags down, I pat the top of her jet-black head. “Hey, girl. How’re the pups?” I ask as she walks beside me into the kitchen. Knowing what she’s looking for, I grab a can of dog food from the pantry, pull the tab, and pour the chunky meat into her bowl. She runs ahead of me as I carry the bowl to the door leading to the huge utility room where her pups are. She slips through the doggy door right before I pull the door open. She immediately goes to check on her sleeping pups in the big dog bed across the room, sniffing them and nudging them with her nose, then comes back as I’m setting the bowl down. She gives it a quick sniff, checking the smell of dinner, before diving in. “Let me know when you’re ready to go out, girl,” I tell her. She doesn’t acknowledge me, just continues to devour her food like she’s starving, when she just ate a few hours ago. Her pups are taking all her nutrients and leaving her with hardly any. I run my fingers through her hair a couple times, before walking back out of the room and closing the door behind me.