Daisy Sometimes

Daisy.  She still came over as often as she could.  I was very grateful for her company because my own thoughts were starting to frustrate me.  She made me doggy-smile.

She always had a spring in her step, a shine in her coat, and an intelligent but playful gleam in her eyes. 

Sometimes we would wrestle like pups and after moments of twisting and growling and yipping, we would lay in the grass trying to catch our breath.  She would sometimes tell me stories of her day with her humans.

Sometimes I found myself not wanting to hear about them.  Her humans.  It felt surreal.  How could any dog have such a wonderful relationship with their humans?  Mine was wonderful but only for a little while.  And now look at me.  A bag of bones at the end of a five-foot long chain without a shade from the sun or a blanket in the winter.

I found myself changing the subject often.  But she would find a way to bring it back up.

She sometimes told me there was still hope for me and that one day I will experience the love she shares with her humans.