Saving My Pups

I wake up to the sound of my pups whining and whimpering. I peer out of my kennel and see murky water slowly rising from the floor. It’s the nearby Chehalis River flooding, I bet. It could be dangerous, so I bark to get Nancy’s attention. Luckily, it works. Shortly after my bark, she bursts in, the muddy water up to her ankles. She grabs my six puppies and pulls me and the other older dogs after her. By the time we get to the house, it is a river, ready to swallow my babies. Nancy shuts the puppies and me into her bedroom. We know we aren’t supposed to go on her bed, but I make an exception and the kids do too. We huddle together for protection while Nancy runs off to put the other dogs in rooms. I look over the edge of the bed. The water comes closer to us every second. Two of my babies, so small and young, fall in and drown in the deadly water. I make sure my other puppies aren’t near the edge, where they could lose their balance. When Nancy comes back, she puts the other four of my pups in her laundry basket. It brings memories of when they used to play there when Nancy wasn’t home. But they know now isn’t time to play. Since she doesn’t put me in the basket, I figure I must defend myself.
         I swim around the house, checking on the other dogs. I hear Priss bark in the laundry room. I dog paddle over and see Nancy put Priss on a stack of food cans on top of the washing machine. Once they are safe, she climbs up the stairs to check on the pups again. I follow her, even though my legs are getting tired. We arrive at her bedroom and Nancy pushes the door open. I see my puppies floating on the mattress in the basket. They whimper to me. When I swim over and jump on the bed, my weight causes it to sink a little. My motherly instinct tells me that they will be fine on their own and I shouldn’t put their lives in more danger. I thrust myself into the icy water again. The cold pricks my skin with millions of needles.   
         I propel myself back down the stairs and climb onto the dining room table, glad for some refuge. I shiver wildly in the water, my fur soaked through to the bone. Nancy brings a foam container downstairs and sets it on the surface. It floats! I see my puppies inside. I can feel their fear rising every minute the water does. I look up, and what I see isn’t an illusion. The ceiling gets closer to me. I hear a snap under my left paw and the table tips over. At this point, there’s only one thing left to do: swim for my life.
I aim for the big-screen TV. While I paddle myself as fast as I can, I get an accidental gulp of water. It is muddy and foul. I sneeze with so much force I am pushed over to the screen. I jump on it and it teeters. I see Nancy standing on the kitchen counter, looking side to side, her eyes roaring with panic. The oven flies open and her oak bookshelf tips over a couple feet away from her.
Nancy grabs some plastic bags and flings herself into the brown sea. She lands a couple inches away from the shelf and pulls herself onto it. She lies down on top, holding her head up. I look over at the window. One at a time, the slats of the blinds disappear under the surface. Soon, the water covers the entire window, plunging the room into complete darkness.
         I can’t see anything now, but I can feel the water creep up under my chin. I bark just before it hits my mouth. I need to swim to a higher point. I check the utility room, where Priss is, and jump on top of the washing machine. After a short amount of time, my paws are chilly and wet. The water still rises, and I think of Nancy, still floating on that bookshelf.
         The water comes up to my chest. It has been a dreadful night, and I am so exhausted. Priss has swum away to find a higher spot. I try to swim, but my muscles are sore and can’t take it. I silently apologize to my puppies in my last moments, and then I relax and let the water take over.