Old doggies curl nose to tail, little bagels trying to keep warm. Some smell toasty, like blueberry or cinnamon. Others salty, like the sea. The smallest whimper and twitch as they slumber. The biggest ones snort and snore. Some old dogs grunt and growl or cower and leak when we pet their sleepy heads. Wake up, we say, clapping our hands. Wake up! They yip, open their cloudy eyes, and stumble around, looking for us or a snack. Soon we can’t find them. We hunt for the trails of poppy seeds some shed when they roam, but poppy seeds are tiny and hard to follow at night. Where are our darlings? we ask, on our knees, patting the ground, groping around in the dark. We’ve eaten your bagels with shmear! a bully in the search party teases. No! cry the children, learning to speak their sorrows. Sobbing, they hurtle into their beds. Fathers shake their heads and shrug. Mothers wring their hands. Soon we all weary and trudge off to sleep. We toss and turn as echoes of howls from far away toll hollow, like rings of cigarette smoke swirling up and up and up, evaporating in the sky.