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lederhosenCommitting these things to memory:
A white-tipped tail, quite out of proportion to its owner, standing high above his head when happy, waving as if he's trying to hail a taxi.
Pointed ears, one straight, one folded, twitching at the mention of his name.
The rituals of Wanting Something. The plaintive eyes, head slightly cocked, showing off those ears to best advantage. The small polite lick on my hand, like a gentleman offering his card. The offered paw, a preamble to the rollover and the belly. The frantic circles at feeding time and the leap-thump-leap-thump as he overcompensates for the shortness of his legs.
The appetite, gulping down food unchewed before it can be taken away.
The shedding. So much fur, finding its way into everything.
The mind, too sharp by half, that always knows what we're up to.
The fears. Alarm at loud noises, the tail tucked down between his legs as cars drive by. The jealousy over food and the reflexive snarl when suddenly woken - and the apology afterwards. The dog who crept into a dark cupboard on his first day with us and sat there so quietly that we looked there twice and missed him; the dog who sneaks under our bed at night like a little ninja.
The sore spots that we never understood but eventually learned to avoid.
The delight every day when we come home, sniffing our legs to find out where we've been and who we've seen, tail lashing hard enough to hit himself in the face.
And now, counting cans and wondering if the dogfood will outlast the dog. Oh, little fellow, I wish you were staying with us.
A white-tipped tail, quite out of proportion to its owner, standing high above his head when happy, waving as if he's trying to hail a taxi.
Pointed ears, one straight, one folded, twitching at the mention of his name.
The rituals of Wanting Something. The plaintive eyes, head slightly cocked, showing off those ears to best advantage. The small polite lick on my hand, like a gentleman offering his card. The offered paw, a preamble to the rollover and the belly. The frantic circles at feeding time and the leap-thump-leap-thump as he overcompensates for the shortness of his legs.
The appetite, gulping down food unchewed before it can be taken away.
The shedding. So much fur, finding its way into everything.
The mind, too sharp by half, that always knows what we're up to.
The fears. Alarm at loud noises, the tail tucked down between his legs as cars drive by. The jealousy over food and the reflexive snarl when suddenly woken - and the apology afterwards. The dog who crept into a dark cupboard on his first day with us and sat there so quietly that we looked there twice and missed him; the dog who sneaks under our bed at night like a little ninja.
The sore spots that we never understood but eventually learned to avoid.
The delight every day when we come home, sniffing our legs to find out where we've been and who we've seen, tail lashing hard enough to hit himself in the face.
And now, counting cans and wondering if the dogfood will outlast the dog. Oh, little fellow, I wish you were staying with us.
