— to my foster dog…
You stand so close to me, your shoulder just touching my leg. You are so tall your head is brushing my fingertips. I scratch the top of your skull and play with your ears. You look up at me with those dark brown eyes, but do not move any other muscle. I stop, and try to move around. You move with me, not like a shadow, but more like a symbiotic organism.
After about half an hour, I sit down. You flop yourself heavily on to the floorboards and stare at me. I have done nothing to earn this devotion, aside from feed you and take you outside regularly on the lead to pee and poop. You have learned to come to me when I call your name, and to stop licking yourself when I tell you no. Aside from that, all the things I say are meaningless to you.
Unlike the dogs before you, you seem fearless. The television, vacuum cleaner, ceiling fans and slippery floors are not a source of trepidation for you. It only took a few days for you to make yourself comfortable on my bed. You don’t fold up like other greyhounds, though, so I have to kick you off.
Every time we go outside, you lead me to the gate. You know that there is more out there, more to see and learn about. Now we have to find a family to love you forever, dear Digby, because I cannot give you enough.