Flash Fiction #681 -- Waiting by the Door

 If I sit by the door like a good dog, maybe someone will take me out for a walk on this misty evening. It is still light outside, and it would be nice to race through the fallen leaves one more time before winter.

But what if winter arrives while we are out? The mist could turn to ice crystals and make my old bones ache. We might not find our way home in time for the evening cookies and tea.  I would regret not getting my cookie.

Maybe I will go sit by the fireplace and stay warm instead.