Glass Shards

When I rubbed my hand and my fingers across his back,  through his thick, gray and white fur,
     I could feel pieces of things -
scratchy things, bumpy things, like . . . leaves, sticks, and such.   
I could not see those things; I could only FEEL them.

It felt as if my hand could get lost in his fur - so thick, and so . . .  DEEP.

How did it GET that way?

Then, I felt something sharp, and I began to pull it out - a tiny piece of glass.
I went in again, and found another piece, small and sharp.
One by one, I pulled out the tiny pieces of glass shards.

How did they GET there?

My poor dog, Charlie.

And . . . then, I woke up.    

I wonder why I had THAT dream, I thought.
Then, I remembered.
I had broken the lid of my crock pot, just the night before.
It shattered into pieces - shards of glass spilling everywhere.

And, also, I remembered that Charlie needs a haircut.