L ast night: I'm reading--my hand dangling over the side of bed--and Polo brings me his soccer ball. The one that squeaks when he puts it in his mouth. He uses his forehead to nudge me. Come play with me. That what the nudge says. I throw the covers off and chase him around the bedroom. We tire, then I scoop him in my arms and spweak doggie tawlk to mah luddle fuhwee munstah. I cuddle with him and sing him songs I make up. About soccer balls, treats, and mud baths. Before I turn out the light, JD hands me the soccer ball and asks if I want to play.
This morning: I lay on the floor and call out for Polo. After two hours of email, I need some snuggle time. We spoon and I rest my face in the crevice of his neck. JD tells me from a distance that I'm smothering him. I respond by asking him not to get jealous of our dog. JD clearly wants to be the Little Spoon.
A few minutes ago: Polo lays in my arms while I work in the office. And JD takes a picture. So I remember what it feels like to love a creature so fiercely. |
