I awake not with a bang, not with a whimper, but rather a long steaming tongue scraping its way up my cheek. Thick saliva sticks to my skin like glue. The presence of thick, curly fur caresses my skin.

“Hey, buddy! Who’s a good boy?” I coo. I open my eyes, and both sensations quickly disappear. My hands grasp air, my cheek untouched.

I look over at my dresser and see a collar and a picture of my dog Jasper. Under his picture reads:

**RIP Jasper**

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**You will always be a good boy.**

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Sadness pulls my heart. The big hand on my clock strikes midnight. I pull the covers over my head, wishing I could remain asleep forever and return to the world of dreams.

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As my eyes close, I try and reach out again.

The softness of fur returns to me.