Arrow Lake What are people but deaths that haven't happened yet?

The descent of Mahler's whiskered muzzle was heralded by a soft gust of air over Dragomir's velveteen fur. He peeped first when the breeze brushed the top of his head, then louder when the Kapitän's nose pressed gentle on his scalp. As with all others who touched his head, Dragomir let his head plummet to the earth in an effort to avoid the touch, and then he rolled arduously to his side.

Once there, wobbling precariously on his tubby side, the newborn stretched his toes—as bright pink as his nose, a stark contrast against his inky black fur—curiously toward the reminiscing Mahler's whiskered lips.