A bitter wind nips at my face, burning my nostrils, but it feels good to be running outside despite the cold air. Our neighborhood is especially quiet this morning. The children and most adults have already left for school and work. The few who haven’t have no doubt taken comfort in the warmth of their houses, leaving the outdoors to those of us brave enough to venture out.
As I make my laps, a few flakes drift down. Through even the smallest of crystals, I can taste the impending spring weather, still a few weeks away, on the tip of my tongue. The sun pokes through a cloud opening but even its bright rays aren’t able to provide any measurable warmth. Still, it’s good to see it, if only briefly, and it makes me smile inside.
I think to myself, “having someone beside me running is the best feeling in the world,” and I look up at her, wagging my tail. She reaches down to pat my head and offers a few soft words of encouragement. Her spirit gives me a renewed energy and, together, we end up running longer than I ever have before.
When we get back home, she goes upstairs and I get a long drink of cool water and wait for her to come back. After awhile, she returns and we sit together on the couch. I lay my head in her lap and she strokes my ear, telling me how well I did today. I let out a deep sigh, close my eyes, and think that maybe this feeling is even better.
As told by Buddy.
Filed under My Dog, Running
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.