i have this dog…

fuzzy old toes

Kaylah likes to hang out with my in my office.

She has a comfy pad there, which she will munch and scrunch into good pillow position, and then she naps, sometimes yipping in her sleep, her feet pawing at the dream-ground.

When I have been writing away at my desk, I lose track of time and place.  At the point I start muttering and cursing, Kaylah will stir.  Then she’ll wander over and put her head in my lap, looking for love

I think she knows when it’s time for me to take a break.

Sometimes, Kristina will come into the office and plunk down on the floor with Kaylah, nudging at her, waking her up, rewarding her with pets, squeezing her feet.

(It is unbelievably fun to squeeze this dog’s feet. Don’t ask me why.)

“Have you noticed?” Kristina looked up at me. “The little tufts of hair between the pads of her feet – they are grey and white now?”

I glanced over and nodded.

“And there is a little cloudy spot on her right eye.” I hear the concern in Kristina’s voice.

“I know, sweetie, that’s part of ageing.”


Her protest is sharp and keen – she does not want to even think about what this means.

That is exactly how I feel.  I love this dog.

I’ve just finished reading Marley and Me.  My face actually hurts from the volume of salty tears that have washed over my cheeks.

And my eyes? They haven’t been this red since my Nana died.

Wait a minute.  This is just a book, right?  A story about someone we don’t even know.  And our dog is still alive, likely with many years left to enjoy with us.  And she’s a dog, not a person.

But this is the power of a good story, a beautifully-written story.

A story that reaches inside your heart and wrings out every memory and fear, every triumph and dread, and reminds you of what you love.

Thank you, John Grogan.


listening to: Heart, Dog and Butterfly


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