It is dangerous to wake the baby. Waking the baby is a sure way to be imprisoned in that too-yellow room for more than just a half hour, but there are ways to quietly approach the crib. By placing the yellow mooned parka on the slick wood floor and lying atop it like a sea lion on a rock, it is possible to slide silently under the baby’s crib, which is like a little cave or a den for dogs. In this frozen tundra, a dog needs a den. There is digging to be done and gnawing of bones and scratching of hindquarters, and a den is the place to do these things. It is good to be a dog, and although it would be fun to have a doggy friend, it would be less fun to have the doggy friend shriek loud enough to bring the dogcatchers. It is hard to be quiet, but it is necessary, and after all, there are quiet things to do—fleas to scratch and corners to sniff—and these thoughts are being thought when the baby above begins to stir. The baby stirs ever so slowly, but this is just the beginning. When the baby wakes up it is a long process, but one that is impossible to stop.

There are two choices now—to run back to the prison or to stay and hope that, this one time, the baby will understand that this is still the beginning of the nap, that it’s still sleep time, and that any peculiar noise is only a stray dog come to say good night. It is a hard decision. Pros and cons must be weighed, options examined, and time is beginning to run out when something happens. An arm is thrust between the crib slats. A single baby arm. It is short and fat, and it hangs in the air like a grownup’s finger, stern and unforgiving. But just as quickly there is something else. There is a faint laugh, a tiny giggle. It drifts from the crib and makes the arm look different. It is not a grownup’s finger. It is just a tiny arm, attached to a tiny hand, a paw really, and it looks so friendly that perhaps there is a third choice.

A den is a fine thing for a dog, but when there are babies to be played with, it is necessary to crawl out and then up to see the big-eyed baby face pressed against the crib. There is some eye rubbing and head tilting, and then the face smiles. It grins. It beams, and when it does, it looks like the moon, shiny and bright, just like the moons on the blanket.

See the blanket?

The baby grins.

See?

The baby giggles.

See?