Ode To Rugby.

His nose is always cold, and it always seeks out my hand. That look of his, like he can read your thoughts, like he would go crazy if you wanted, or just lay there with his hand on your hand, reminding you of the fleeting nature of each moment. And how his jaws lock on the end of your sleeve, playfully, when he doesn't want you to go anywhere. How he wants to go outside every 20 minutes to flirt with his girlfriend when really it's another male dog across the way. But I won't tell him.

I was laying on the bed reading last night and he crawled up and huddled himself close to me, stretched out like a human body. I put the book down and put my arm under his head, and he put his paw on my stomach and I rubbed his belly for ages. Dogs are so beautiful, and pure, and so free of all the spite and ill will we humans have to trudge through. My best friend is a chocolate lab, and he never asks me to be anything other than emily. As long as I get the food out at 9, 12, and 5, that is.