No need to talk to.
No need to be witty, interesting, smart, delighting, or entertain him.
I can think my thoughts openly.
For hours, days, years he isn’t bored with me.
He gladly, readily goes with me wherever I go, in rain or shine.
He is delighted with my coming home, without asking distrustful questions.
He is my dog.
Suppose, when I on purpose leave him alone somewhere with the wish that he goes astray, yet will he return happy and gladly, joyfully meet me without hard feelings.
When my acquaintances, my friends, my children and even my wife have left me, my dog will be the last creature to leave me and only then, whenever he has the heart to do so.
Only in the eyes of my dog, am I forever rich, young and good. Where I am, there’s his home.
How I wish Eve could be so dear.
1977
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