Wheeling Gull Isle not unlike the waves

The sheepdog felt the clip of her son’s blunt jaws around the tip of her tail and flicked it out of his grasp, but only just. Before the fuse burned out on his infinitesimal attention span, she allowed the fluttering banner to be pinched between his baby teeth. Dramatically, she fell to the ground to be pounced upon and climbed. She was just as excited as Sixgill was to find out what the special treat was, and turned doleful cerulean eyes upon her mate with wide-eyed wonder. “Treat?” she mouthed to her mate, a mischievous light sparkling in her seabright eyes as she conjured another word from their shared past with humans. “Cookie?”