Nanny DogMarta Ferguson
Years she’s been my baby, my neurotic, oversized hold-me-when-it-storms baby. But the child has changed all that. Daisy’s got responsibilities now. Sleeps before the nursery door at naptime. Sleeps along the edge of the quilt at playtime. Sleeps as the baby pulls her ears, pinches her back. Wakes to roll over and offer the pink of her belly, her generous rows of nipples, her spayed-out unpuppied nipples, to the baby’s delighted mouth.
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