I was jealous of Rudy’s freedom to sleep as much as he wished. Even given his repetitive diet and lack of a love life, I offered many times to trade him places. He was unwilling to entertain such an offer. He’d look at me as I pitched the plan, then, as if mocking me, stretch out on the floor when I was done. Who could blame him? I’ve heard it said that dogs are the only creatures permitted to live with their gods. What thinking creature would give that up? He likely thought I was toying with him—the strange riddling humor of deity.

I’ve always favored cats over dogs. We’ve owned both. But the longest any of us has ever had a pet was the fifteen and a half years we had our dog Rudy. Thousands of mornings I began my day by turning on my coffee pot then opening the back door for him. We’d walk across the patio and I’d open the gate into the side yard. He’d trot off into the dewy grass of morning. Back inside, minutes would pass and I’d hear his single, patient bark. I’d open the gate and he’d run ahead of me to the door. I’d give him a treat, fill his water dish, and then he’d then nap under my writing desk as I wrote. 

So this one is for you, Rudy. 

You deserve to have some of the words. So many were made in your presence.