Eyes like the sky on a summer afternoon. At their center the void of night draws you in. A coat, warm, like the sun is warm under your hand. Patches of brown speckle his hide. He dances, and leaps. He sits and he stares. A personality of extremes, from blissfully still to wildly energetic.
On bad days he stretches out beside me, leaning a reassuring weight against my body. It holds me together. Weighs me down and tethers me to the earth. At times he will float out the door and drag me along behind him. He searches for all the secrets that the world has to offer with his cold, wet nose. Its brown leather pushes at the grass and the dirt. He snuffles in, and then huffs out.
At times he can be uncontrollable. A Tasmanian devil that tears through the yard, jumping all over you. His tail is a whip that snaps against your legs as he clamours for attention. He loves to run. His favourite is when I hide his toy and tell him to go find it. When his nose has searched it out he picks it up and prances around, showing it off. With unpredictable spurts of power, he’ll rocket across the yard. Then, because he loves to play the game, he’ll bring it to me and drop it at my feet.
It’s true he’s needy at times and his nails click on the floor in an annoying way. He barks and is insecure around new people. His stomach is overly sensitive and it means his farts stink. He leaves black paw prints all over the floors and my bedding when he comes in from the yard. But he’s my dog. He’s my Truman, and I wouldn’t trade him for all the obedience champions of the dog world.