When he was a puppy, he slept curled at my feet, under the covers. The arch of my foot would caress his tailbone. As the night passed to early morning, he would inch up to my knees, still under the covers.
I would turn to my side and set my knee on his back, my leg rising and falling with his breathing.
Eight years later, he’s done with his breakfast. He jumps up on the bed, nudging his nose on the blanket, signaling it’s time to lift the covers. He turns in a tight circle once, and then again, and then falls. He shifts so he is parallel to me, with his back to my belly and his tail at my feet. No longer a puppy, his 70 pounds leans in.
I turn to my side and set my knee on his back, my leg rises and falls with his breathing.
I slide my hand under the cover and touch his silky ears, and pull him in tighter.
No, I can’t buy this on Amazon or find this on the Tube or in a Book.
No, I can’t feel this in any other Moment.