My Dog, The Philosopher: Part 1
A canine lesson for the human soul
There he is, paws on the side of the bed.
I roll over, unready to trade sleep’s caress for the waking world’s grit.
He huffs.
Not impatiently. Urgently.
He doesn’t want to wake the rest of the house, but he will, if necessary.
I roll back over and our eyes meet.
His head bobs to-and-fro, yanked around by his unseen tail.
“Fine,” I mutter as I sit up and stretch.
The soft warmth of my bed fades into the cool, hard tile beneath my bare feet.
I fumble around my nightstand and put on my glasses.
He’s won.
Bleary and misfiring, I shuffle to the back door as he trots ahead in quiet triumph.
I want to be more like him.
He knows what he needs and isn’t afraid to ask for it.
My dog, the philosopher.
