The old girl

Most mornings I wake up to the sound of claws on the floor. Clickity clack, clickity clack, clicky clack. Evie the dachshund is 17 years old now. She doesn’t walk around too much anymore, but when she does, I hear it.


The floor upstairs is timber, downstairs - timber. The stairs, yes mam - timber.


Clickety clack, clickity clack, clickity clack. I hear it more with my feelings than with my ears. It’s loaded, we’ve a lot of history.


On Sunday I tried to read while the kids made Lego. Somewhere in the back of my consciousness I heard Evie shuffle down the stairs and clickity clack across the room. Heading out to the bathroom 5% of my brain thought.


Except that Evie wasn’t in the house. She was away with Jacqui for the weekend. It’s a funny old existence sometimes.


Clickity clack, clickity clack.