An exchange of messages. It had something of the poetic, so I tried to do it justice:

He’s sleeping I think.
The puppy whines. The hot drink
Will have to wait, it’s time
For morning jobs, in morning frost
Returned, a first perhaps
For Lola, quick-stepping on the path,
Adjusting the dial of her scent
To colder ways. The rays
Of autumnal sun, as in a dream,
Tickle the reservoir, il fallait voir,
Steam, and I alone, voyeuse,
Am mystified. I see:
On my return, I’ll wake him up
With a nice cup of tea.