A Boy and His Dog - Day 26

We are greeted in the driveway before we even leave the van.  Three black and white dogs, still puppies, jump and bark their welcome in a frenzy of wiggling bodies and wagging tails.  Opening the door slowly, pushing them back with the bulk of metal, clears just enough space for me to enter the throng.  I try to pet each black head individually even while the noses another is between my hand and my mark.  After a moment, I feel I have successfully made contact with each ball of energy and hope they are slightly calmer before opening the sliding van door to let Dylan out.

It never works.  

Opening the door while Dylan is still strapped in his car-seat, the puppies stand waiting expectantly while I unclasp the buckles.  As soon as he is free of his seat, before his feet even hit the ground, he is swarmed.  When he was smaller, a little less sure of himself, he would hide behind my legs.  Now he is in command.  He tells those dogs to stay "down!".  Once the commotion of wagging tails, lolling tongues and rooting noses subsides, we begin making our way to my parent's house.

The short trek from van to house can often be distracting for a boy of three: Papa on the tractor, cats to catch, a toy to retrieve.  Always there is Missy.  She faithfully walks alongside him, leaning her head against him wherever he stops hoping for another pet, another hug.  I love watching them together, two peas in a pod, full of energy, affection and fun.

Missy has claimed Dylan for her own.  She tolerates his rough loving play.  She sits waiting expectantly for him to come back out the door.  She follows him wherever he wanders whether on a lead or freely beside him.  She loves him.  She is loyal.  She forgives him for leaving for long spaces of time; he forgives her the neediness she oozes.




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