Can I go on a minute about dogs?

Dogs are the best. Sometimes I think the meaning of life is dogs. When we return home, whether from an hour away or days away, the dogs go completely crazy. The overwhelming joy shuddering their small frames as they jump, hop, shake, and shimmer with relief fills me with awe. Who else has ever been this exhilarated to see me?! 

We look forward to leaving just so we can return. As we approach the neighborhood, we are all like, Oh my gosh, the dogs are going be so excited. The anticipation of the event is building in all of us and is a frequent topic of conversation in our family. This ritual is one of life’s great pleasures. The sentiment was put to poetic perfection in 1978 by Peaches & Herb:

Reunited, and it feels so good
Reunited ’cause we understood
There’s one perfect fit
And, sugar, this one is it
We both are so excited ’cause we’re reunited, hey, hey

This love is not without demands. Decaf, my male dog, insists we take it to the couch.

Hey, let’s unwind from this strenuous display of affection by plopping next to each other on a pile of cushions. What say you?

I watch him hot step it to the couch while craning his neck back to see if the pack is taking his lead. I almost never want to go directly from car to couch. Yet I frequently do even if only for a minute. He’s burrowed next to me before I even fully release my weight to the sofa.

I know he is just a mammal, but I can’t see how a mystical creature could be any more attuned to me. He is my familiar, medieval European folklore is alive and well in our house. We are bonded. We are bonded with super glue.

How do I deserve this? I don’t. I could never give them as much as they give me. Not that we don’t care for them. We consider them and think about their needs and make all kinds of adjustments and concessions. But I don’t feel like I am loved because of THAT. It’s not like:

Thanks so much for letting me sniff out that patch of grass next to Patty’s place. I so appreciate that you didn’t jerk me away. I don’t totally feel like pressing my warm little sausage body next to your side for three solid hours while you do French, play Woodoku and watch tv and but I’ll throw you a bone just this once.

He just wants to be there. And for those precious moments, I am not alone. My hand on his warmth, we are briefly one thing and not two things.

Sidewalk Face 1294 – on sale now in my shop.