Sun Mote Copse But how could I have known?

She was jostled by a warm tongue on her brow, earning the offender an indignant squeal. By scent alone, as it was all she had, she knew it was her mother’s tongue—yet she still did not quiet. No, she continued on, giving her mother a puppy-sized tongue-lashing. 

Eyes and ears still closed off to the world, she did not realize that her rant was directed at the walls of the den and not at her mother.

She felt her siblings’ around her as she wriggled against them, their warm bodies a constant rhythm in the rather mundane life of a newborn. Someday, when her other senses developed, she would begin to dream of more than the mundane. For now, however, she dreamt of furred snuggles and warm milk.

The latter of which she sought, mouth open wide, searching for the nearest teat. Her paws began to flail in attempt to find purchase, but it seemed to her that she was being held hostage by her brother and sister, their bodies a barricade. 

A squeal wrenched from her in utter frustration. A how dare you in the only language a newborn puppy could know.