On a Dog’s Love

It’s not terrible being loved by my master. While that doesn’t sound positive, I purposely put it that way because he’s been under a tremendous amount of stress recently. It is as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders.

A lot of people are coming and going all the time. He alternates between bouts of severe depression and yelling at them.

But, he never yells at me.


In fact, when he has time, he loves on me and give me treats and even lets me sleep in his bed when his girlfriend is not around. She doesn’t like me very much, even though she has two dogs of her own. I can’t tell if she’s jealous or not, but, the fact remains, that she has no kind words to say about me or to me.

But that doesn’t stop the love that my master and I share. Even though I have only been with him for four years, our bond is a special one. I can even tell that it is his footsteps in the hallway when he’s coming to see me.

In private, he will rub my head and tell me about another dog he had almost 30 years ago, a dog that he loved almost as much as he loves me. That was another stressful time for him, because he was fighting in a war at that point. He tells me he rescued the dog and took care of it in the trenches. It broke his heart when he lost the dog a year later. He talks about that dog and smiles at me with moist eyes.

I think, of all the creatures around him, both the men and the women, I love him the most, and I know he loves me. But I’m worried about him. I sense that something terrible is about to happen.

Until then, I’m happiest when the Führer scratches my ears and whispers, “Ich liebe dich, süßes Mädchen Blondi.”

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