Soft rustling noises could be heard from within.
The dog tilted its head, and moved its tail once, sitting down.
It couldn't enter, since the light could not touch that far, but he knew he did not have to wait long.
He only had to wait.
He would come out of the door, and see his dog again.
The shuffling noise stopped, and soft thumping noises began.
The door opened, and the light from his bedroom window challenged the light from the kitchen's, in crisscross patterns on the floor.
As his dog busied itself with the light's swinging motion, he reached down and touched his hand to the floor and the dog's head, giving it a little pat.
The dog looked up, to the side, and watched his friend open the front door and exit his house.
He only had to wait.
The light slowly shifted, making its way from one end of the room to the other and changing colors in marginal degrees.
A shadowy mouse creeped across the roof once, and disappeared.
Two birds' shadows passed across the window and across the floor.
The dog had fallen asleep.
The light was colder, now. The dog woke up.
The door had made a noise.
A soft noise, a jingling noise.
The door opened, again, and the dog ran circles around his returned friend, who closed the door against the soft, cold, outside glow and brought a different kind of light in.
The dog stuck to his side as he put his bag down.
The dog stuck to his side as he cleaned the kitchen window.
The dog stuck to his side as he chased the shadow mice out of the door.
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