You're My Best Friend

My dog is amazing. Not just because he is an American Golden Retriever with a gorgeous dark red coat and adorable fluffy blonde tail feathers, and not because he is regal and bursting with personality. I don't adore him because he pushes me to run faster on days when we hit the bike path together, or because he has his own stretching routine he does when I ask him if he is up for a run. I don't just admire him when he stops and sits to look both ways while waiting for me before he crosses a street, or the patient way he will sit back and watch silently when Bailey comes over and takes on all of his toys at once. It's not because of the darling way he pirouettes and prances around the kitchen when it's meal time, or the concerned way he bursts into the bathroom (because when you close that door, you are OBVIOUSLY in need of assistance!). It's not because of the determination that he applies when he is solving a serious problem, like how to get a second tennis ball in his mouth or get as many possible kibbles out of his Kong (which is accomplished by repeatedly dropping it down a flight of stairs).

I love my dog because he unconditionally cares about everybody in his life. He is genuinely excited to see friends and family when they come over, and he is always happy to see me when I come home. He is full of love and not afraid to shower us with affection. I love the way he sits at my feet and looks up at me begging to be petted, and the way he gently licks my wrist and sighs in happiness when I reach down to scratch his chest. And I love the way he looks at me as he creeps up toward my pillow when he wants to wake me up before my alarm goes off in the morning, like he knows he's interrupting something important but he doesn't understand how it could possibly be more important than his hungry tummy.

Don't get me wrong, he isn't an eternal bundle of sunshine, and he does occasionally bark at passers by from the safety of his bay window. When he is annoyed or grumpy with you, you definitely know it. He will ignore all conversation and sulk in the corner by the front door, and sometimes ring his bell incessantly just to let you know he is less than thrilled about whatever is going on. Sometimes he will sneak something off of the kitchen counter or a table, and leave it for you on the floor somewhere - which inevitably plagues his conscience enough that he grovels in apology when you find it. He mostly gets a little rebellious when he thinks he is too mature to need his leash and leader when we go for walks in the evening. He also has his moments when the weather is not fit to run outside and I abandon him in favor of the treadmill, or when it is 8:05 and you are severely delinquent in serving his 8:00 meal.

This summer his companionship has been invaluable to me. There is nothing that could ever replace the affection and unconditional support he has provided so liberally over these past few months. He has been energetic and excited with me on good days, and gentle and understanding on the more frequent bad days. I have so enjoyed watching the trust we have in each other grow as I get to spend one-on-one time with him, and he gets to accompany me on errands and visits. His Addisonian issues aside, Bosco has been a reliable source of joy in my life, and it is unfortunate that I can't express to him how genuinely I appreciate him. I know he understands that I adore him, and he definitely comprehends his dependence on us. But his eyes express confusion and disappointment when he has to stay home by himself, or when I enforce a rule he doesn't understand, and it breaks my heart. I wish he could fathom the depth of my gratitude for having him in my life, for he has permanently captured a piece of my heart, and inspires me daily to be more open and loving to people I care about.