Jan 5, 2008 :: Kirkwood Avenue, Renoldystown
I know when I get out the big, bug-eyed machine and point it at you, that you believe, truly believe, that I am stealing your soul and that I might make a tasty meal of your ears next. That's ok. You are the sweetest dog I know. You are also the most suspicious, deadpan, pensive, loyal, complex dog I know. I love how you always walk to my left, never pulling on the leash. I wonder who taught you that? I love how when I say your name your ears perk up and you turn around with so much adventure and optimism in your eyes. That is, unless when you turn around, i'm holding a camera. Then, you freeze and sulk. I love that you love Blake so much. That you cuddle up to him on the couch, sigh deeply, and lay your head on his lap every time he sits down. I love that you have never once chewed up a pair of my shoes. I love that even if I have no idea what you've done (yet), you still look and act guilty. I love that as certain you are that I have it in for you--that everyone, every dog in the dog park, every door you encounter, every person who walks past the house, has it in for you--that you still look at me with that particular type of idol-worship some dogs have for the people they love.