AN OBNOXIOUS WASHCLOTH SWEEPING across my face woke me way too early Saturday morning. I pushed it away and snuggled into my pillow, but it returned, swiping me from chin to forehead with one sloppy lick. My eyes popped open and I jerked up as soon I registered that the odd sensation wasn't a washcloth at all. Instead, it was a warm, wet dog tongue.
"Gross, Knox!" I said, glaring at him. Upon making eye contact, he whined, jumped off the bed, and looked toward the bedroom door.
I sighed. "You gotta pee, buddy?" I asked.
He whined again. Light was starting to creep around the edges of my curtains, but dark shadows still stretched across my bedroom, indicating that it was the c***k of dawn. At least I thought so. I rarely ever saw it. Ugh. Why was Knox in my bed? I ran a hand through my
