Me & The Dog

i think i know what she's thinking, and i know what she's hoping for. these languid days have afforded me something priceless.

just watching her sleep makes me a better, calmer person. her wants are simple, her striving based in the complete trust that someone--either my sister or me--will meet her needs. when she sleeps, it is artful sleeping. when she wants a game, she comes trotting up, growling in mock agression, batting at my shins. "Chase me! Chase me!" she's saying. she unhinges her jaw, grabs my hand in her mouth, or tugs on my sleeve--hard enough to let me feel the tiniest sliver of her power--never ever enough to hurt. if the game is getting too rough, she self corrects, and i know that her doggie spirit understands the frailty of human skin.

she is tolerant of all the kisses with which i dot her muzzle, all the pressing into her fur of my unadulterated longing to care for her. and she sleeps on while i run my fingers through her fur. she knows i'm there.

she does not have the detached majesty of a cat, but she can sit in perfection. just watching. the difference is that she wants, for the most part, to be near. if i go into a room, it is only a matter of time before she follows. sometimes, she sequesters herself without ceremony. her retreat says "it's nothing personal; i'm just tired."

of course i go in to kiss her, and my kisses say " i haven't forgotten you little girl." she expels a breath. a sigh, really, as if to say "if you must. if you must."

she sees the weakness in my insistence on such constant affection, but does not bedrudge me that need. with her, i am something i can never be with a human being. completely transparent. absolutely no artifice. the simple elegance of her being requires nothing less.