Guna morning

The last days I spent in the valley were mornings waking up, accompanying Madi to work alongside Guna, and spoiling myself with a latte and cinnamon roll so generously given by Madi. On most days, admittedly, I’d go back to bed with Guna and fall asleep for at least an hour. Whenever I would put Guna under the covers, she would find a nesting spot between my legs. I know she’s tired because her hurry to get back up on the bed is quick and without distraction. I’m learning she isn’t much of a morning doggo. Once we get out of bed, it’s slow. She stretches her long, lanky legs at the edge of the bed and yawns, which sounds like a small cry for help. She looks at me with eyes that beg for food, as if I haven’t fed her in days. If I’m too slow getting out of bed, she’ll make her way over to me, jumping off her two back legs, paws flying directly at my face. I see she also has a habit of ramming her tiny skull into you, acting as a battering ram breaking down a door. The speed and force she comes at you with might leave you with a black eye. Trust me, I know.