Puppy Love

Our dog is 1-1/2-years-old and 75 pounds of pure exuberance. He doesn't know how big he is, since we brought him home when he was smaller than our two cats and grew up thinking he was one of them. In planning for my surgery last month, we opted to have the dog stay at a kennel ("bed and biscuit") for the first three weeks of my recovery. The time away from him was difficult for me, not just because of my physical pain, but because I missed my comic relief. We were certain, though, that he would not miss us quite as much because he was scheduled for daily playtime with other dogs, so that unique excitement would certainly make up for our separation.

When our boy rejoined the household, I could tell that he understood that his Mommy was not quite the same. I shuffled instead of played. I stayed home instead of disappearing to work each day. I must have smelled differently as well because of the operation and the change of hormones. During the last month, I have realized that our dog now sits against me often and follows next to me constantly, even if I am just walking through the house. I am not sure if he knows I am still recovering or if he thinks we will again be separated.

In the six-and-a-half weeks that I stayed home, I rarely went outside. Doctor appointments, of course. A couple of errands with my husband. One quick shopping excursion with a friend. I simply was not going outside for fear of slipping on the little bit of snow and ice we have on the ground.

The other day, I started to get organized for my return to work. I was repacking my tote bag and pocket book. I was distracted and had not really paid attention to the fact that the dog was following me in my little circles from room to room. At one point, I needed to take a couple of items out to the car. I stepped outside and carefully made my way across the snow patches, while also noticing the sunshine that I had rarely enjoyed over the last few weeks. Back into the house I went, passing the dog, who followed me to the closet as I hung up my coat.

Suddenly, I realized that my audience was paying fullest attention to me. His beating tail signaled rapturous applause. His toothy grin revealed his joy. His body swayed and swooned. I had been gone for a mere moment, maybe two minutes at most. There was no mistaking that my dog absolutely adores me and wanted to let me know how incredibly much he had missed me while I was away... outside... for less than two minutes.

I stopped moving, looked at him, and said aloud, "Everyone should know what it feels like to be loved and missed that much at least once by someone."

I am not sure if I was talking to myself, to my dog, or to Grandfather Great Spirit. All I know is that in that one moment of thrill-filled puppy glee, I was absolutely, undoubtedly, completely loved. If I had a tail, I would have wagged it too.