How many times a day do I think how grateful I am for you? It’s constant. Even when you are pulling on your leash because you really want to go this way and I’m saying we need to go that way, and then you’re sitting down in terrier protest and it’s hot and now I’m sweating and you’re giving me a look like, What, I’m innocent, I’ve done nothing and I’ve got all day. Even then. Or when I’m writing and trying to finish and frustrated and hating myself awfully, and you’ve magically appeared at my feet to play your game of nonstop staring, that persistent, irritatingly timed way you bid for my attention or food—because you always want food, especially if it’s been more than one minute since you last had food. Even then, when you’re shifting your weight, rocking back and forth on your haunches, muttering noises and tracking my every move in anticipation of the moment you could win—knowing any moment you will win—because eventually you always win. Yes, even then. Even then, I am grateful for you. You always win, but I have already won. I’m humbled by our bond. Writing earnestly to you, though you cannot even read. (What’s that? Who cares! Let’s go outside! We’re together! This smells good!) You snap me back to reality, into the here, the now. You remind me life is short, and at its best when simple. You show me love and you do it without thinking, without judging and whether or not I deserve it. You wow. And so a better question might be: How could I not find myself grateful for you every day, multiple times a day, constantly? It’s impossible. You are the very, very best—infinitely. Thank you, bubs.
© Matt Allard
