I step into the living room. Orion's head peeks out from under the blanket covered futon, letting me know that he has been sleeping but is open to some brilliant distraction I might come up with. I pick up a dirty pee pad. I grab a discarded sock. Puppy toy. Puppy toy. Disheveled shirt. Puppy toy. Puppy toy.
He wiggles out from under the futon. "What are we doing?" he seems to inquire with the tilt of his head, perked ears.
"Cleaning buddy. Our house is a disaster," I say, pulling the broom out from the kitchen.
The broom seems to light a fire in Orion's eyes. The half-drooped eyes of the sleeping dog disappear. He is all ready to help in this arena.