Today is her ‘different’ day when everyone else is gone and it’s just the two of us. She usually takes me out on these days. We run. I love to run. I run as fast as I can until my legs feel like they have caught fire, and then sometimes even farther. But today there’s no move toward the door.
I wait, patiently by all outward appearances, but she doesn’t seem to want to venture out today. Although I can’t figure out exactly why, my intuition tells me something is holding her back. Today she seems distant. Distracted.
I’ll wait beside her to see if she changes her mind and decides to get my leash. I shift a little on my forepaws, expectantly. After awhile, I decide it’s not to be and take up one of my favorite spots next to her on the couch. She reaches down and ruffles the fur between my ears and I sit up to look at her, my mother in human form. I yawn and blink at her, then lay my muzzle back down, tucked over my own paws and curled up in a ball beside her, because that’s what her eyes tell me she needs most from me at this moment.
I won’t begrudge her my affection for a reason as trivial as her brief absence. I adore her not because she feeds me or brushes me. Or even because she speaks softly to me or corrects me sharply when I do wrong. I don’t follow at her heels simply because I hope she will take me for a run or throw a toy for me to fetch. Sometimes, she gives me special treats, like the last morsel from her own plate. But even that is not why I love her. She could neglect to do any of these things and I would still feel the same.
The reason is more than all these things put together. I love her simply because I am hers.
As told by Buddy.