the last and first days

It is 1:27 AM, January 2nd. The last thing I did
on the first day of the year was coax and bring
one of the dogs, the oldest, 
to the bedroom where not too long ago she had  
dared to break the rule by choosing to follow.
Sleep on the bedroom rug, by the bedroom sleepers.
And be the first sun to wake in the morning. 

I had arrived home late from a massage,
had forgotten to bring a sweater, was in midst
of threatening flu in midst of December 
night wind under stars, 
was on the last stretch of patience knowing 
the dogs still need their day-end walk.
Had ran out of patience when, expecting much,
let her go without leash and she took too long. 

Maybe she didn't need to go and I didn't listen.
Had been bullheaded about it. So
she refused--when I did--to climb the stairs 
to bed. She refused to follow when called.
Refused when, feeling sorry,I coaxed.
I returned to the living room and found her
at the foot of the couch. And calling her again

asked she follow. 
She did (resentfully?)
Staying several feet away from me

where now I sit, now neither angry nor sleepy
typing the first hours away.