love in your heart is something that you cannot truly properly describe to another. it’s the way they look up at you, vocal and wiggling or quiet and snuggling in the crook of your arm. there’s something in how they are so thrilled to see you every time you walk in the door that you can’t resist a smile even in the grumpiest of days. she sits next to me and woofs as she hears the neighbor chopping wood because she thinks someone is knocking at the door. he resists your phone conversation with me and tears apart a blanket in an attempt to get you to notice him. look at me! take me for a walk! it’s just you ‘n’ me, buddy!
my daisy girl is the love of my life. she sits next to me as i type, all curled up with her chin on her paw that is folded under, and snoozing. she came to me unexpectedly off of cable access on a november in 2003, and i moved mountains to bring her into our lives, but she ended up being the one who changed me. after my whole world came crumbling around me, she still saw me as the apple of her eye. when i took her on the bluff overlooking the sea, she knew i would be okay and gave me a little encouragement by playing herself in a way she never had. we walked through a grove of butterflies and said goodbye to that world, and i took her to a new land. she chewed magazines in half that mysteriously came through slots in the door and she slept on my mattress with me in that attic until i was curled in a small corner. we moved into her house and her yard and she chased the tennis ball into corners, dug up cat poop for dessert, and scratched her back in the dry grass of summer. she watched me work in the yard creating this garden, she learned to make her way through 18″ of snow, and catch snowballs in her mouth. when i picked her up from the hospital with her cone head and shaved chicken leg, coaxing her up the ramp and icing her morning and night as she dealt with the side effects of morphine and a steel rod in her leg, i fell asleep next to my girl, hoping i could will away the pain. i tried to give her every experience a mother could give her daughter – we went to the ocean, the desert, the mountains, the countryside. she got to ride in the back of a pickup truck with her best doggie friend and she got to lick several babies in the face as they squealed in delight. we have chased seagulls and squirrels and cats and puppies. we have shimmied down steep staircases and climbed up ravines. she went from a dog terrified of waves to one who jumped in the river to swim after the stick.
i know that melancholy, and i know the hope and the fear and the joy. your heart is his heart, your love is his love, and there is bliss in those moments you have.