It is 3.27am and somewhere, intermittent and plaintive, a dog is barking. I pull on my trousers and creep downstairs
I am woken by a dog barking. On the ceiling, the silhouette of a tree branch is waving in the light cast by next door’s security light. Having fallen asleep while checking the number of mail-in ballots received and accepted thus far in North Carolina and Wisconsin, I am still clutching my phone tightly in one cramped claw. It is 3.27am and somewhere, intermittent and plaintive, a dog is barking in the night.
After some minutes it becomes clear that the barking dog is my dog. I listen to one more round to make sure, and then pull on my trousers and creep downstairs.
