A dog is more than “just a dog.” A dog is a hand to hold and a toy when boredom sets in. A dog is comfort and warmth during a thunderstorm (albeit a very fat and heavy comfort). A dog is that gross smell on your hands after petting her but you like it anyway, almost like puppy breath. A dog is a pillow and a footstool.
A dog is somebody to sing to until you scare her away with your off-key pitches, only to dance right back up to her to try and dance with her. A dog is a guard-dog-but-not-quite-a-guard-dog because she’s scared of a cat less than half her size. A dog is a grumbling snore in the middle of the night to let you know you aren’t alone and that the monsters can’t get you. A dog is the happy presence waiting at the door when you come in, even if you “literally just walked out, what is your deal.”
A dog is “I have to pee” and then “I’m too scared to pee let me back in the house.” A dog is the mother to all the other dogs, even though she never had any puppies of her own. A dog is the click-clacking across the kitchen floor trying to sneak some cat food even though her own food bowl is clearly full. A dog is the one you trip over when getting out of the shower because she just had to stay close to you while you were getting ready for your day. A dog is that constant weight pressed against your legs while you are eating when “No, you can’t have any” turns in to “Here, just a small piece.”
A dog is the one who takes being yelled at but then comes right back for attention and ear scratches and to give you kisses. A dog is the one who lets you hang on her neck and cry and cry when somebody dies. A dog is the one who lets you lie in the floor and snuggle with her in front of the fireplace on cold December nights.
A dog is the one you love unconditionally and who loves you back no questions asked.