I have a dog named Rufus, and I love him a lot.
Sometimes I call him weird shit, like “Lubba.” I don’t know why.
But he forgives me for it, and most of the time he even responds to it.
Sometimes I get sad when I think about the fact that he will die someday.
But he’s only four, so I try not to think about it too much.
Even though we both seem to be aging at a rapid pace.
He is the best sigher I know. He sighs like he invented sighing.
He sleeps with me in my bed when it’s not too hot because I don’t have central a/c because I’m poor.
In the mornings he makes me get up to feed him before the sun has even risen because I feed him only once a day, in the mornings before the sun has even risen.
After he eats he jumps back into bed with me, burps loudly, and then leaves to go sleep on the couch in the living room.
But when he hears my alarm go off an hour and a half later, he runs across the apartment, down the hallway, and jumps into my bed to greet me.
Sometimes he scratches me with his claws like he did this morning, but I know that it’s really just him expressing his love for me, which is so strong that he has to hurt me sometimes by accident like Lenny in Of Mine and Men.
Even though he hurts me sometimes, it’s my favorite part of the day. He reminds me that every new day is astonishing and beautiful.
Just like him.