Hugs

Sarah and I are hugging in the kitchen. It is one  of those romantic and heartfelt embraces that comes in the middle of a deep conversation. Goddess growls before barking and is watching us intently. Raising her left front paw she scratches the leg of the table. Never taking her eyes off of us she barks again. Her tail is wagging the entire time.

She does this every time we hug. Her beautiful brown golden eyes stare at Sarah then at me. She takes a step back and looks at both of us at the same time.

"What?" we ask, pulling back from one another yet still connected.

She steps closer, wanted to be a part.

Reaching down with one hand, Sarah scratches her rear. Goddess' full attention is on her.

I take a step away and Goddess moves her head so I can rub behind her ears while Sarah continues on her body. Suddenly content, Goddess strolls away to her water bowl before meandering outside to lay in the sun on the beloved back deck.

For seven years she has been my companion. Through major transitions, the worst of times and now, the best of times, she's given her all. I don't know what I will do when her time is up ... I can't fathom it and my eyes grow moist if I dwell on it so I try to just enjoy her now.

She obviously enjoys us. She adores Sarah. She's gleefully excited when the girls get home from school. Should my kids stroll in she leaps with joy. Goddess loves Shirley's sad little holy dock, marsh hens, stopping at our neighbor Art's for treats. And she loves it when Sarah and I hug.

When I write she sits under my feet. She loves laying under the fire in the Chimenia. She and Winston, the little gay dog, love to play and steal one another's food. When visitors arrive she barks when they knock then greets them warmly when its opened. Should the living room be full of company she'll promptly fall asleep in the middle of the floor.

Goddess has never met a pair of socks she didn't want. At night she sleeps in the floor on my side of the bed though when Sarah wakes she rushes over to tell wish her a good morning.

She's a rescued dog having been thrown away when she was born. This has been the only home she's ever known. It is a home full of cluttered joy and she is restfully content.

She meanders back inside and walks close to where I'm perched in the kitchen so I'll rub her as she passes. Then makes her way to where Sarah sits at the desk in the front room and lays down beside her, very much a part of us.