Loving Dogs

 

 

I love the way a dog loves: waiting patiently for its owner to come home, soaking up every ounce of attention.
I love the way a dog loves: all wagging tails and bright eyes, looking up at its owner with adoration.

I love the way a dog loves: begging for scraps, running right back to its owner after each beating,
tail between its legs and eyes so wide and forgiving.

Like any dog, I bite the hand which feeds me.
Overzealous, starved, craving.
Tooth meets flesh, tongue meets blood.

Like any dog, I take the punishment for biting.
Good dogs know not to bite.

But I am a bad dog, one that growls at those who get too close.
One that cowers away from gentle hands.

I run back to my owner every time.

And every time, I bite.