Chapter 1: The Unbreakable Bond

I have conversations with my dog. Do you? My pup doesn’t mind if I’m entirely focused on my writing. As she barks at the mailman, I keep typing away. When she strikes a pose that resembles cat-cow, it’s her way of signaling that she needs to go out. Our nonverbal communication is surprisingly effective.

Sometimes, she glances at me as if to say, "Aren't you going to give me some attention?" And I respond, “Alright, time for some scratches!” I frequently remind her that she’s my best friend, and when I ask, “Who’s a good girl?” she wags her tail in enthusiastic agreement. After receiving a treat, we both return to our routines—me to my writing and her to hiding her snack under my pillow, ensuring it smells like dog treats by bedtime.

If you happen to find someone who can handle this kind of relationship, send them my way. My dog trails me everywhere without ever engaging in arguments, gaslighting, or delivering any profound insights. If you told her I said that, she'd probably just wag her tail in disbelief. She has that FOX News-like loyalty to whoever provides her meals and walks.

I wouldn’t even allow her to answer the phone if QAnon called. If they dangled a cookie and a lakeside stroll, she might just abandon me like a political figure gone rogue.

As I wander around the house, I chat with her about story ideas, my hunger, and my perpetual fatigue. In my imagination, she’s the one making me espresso, pouring drinks, and serving cookies—free of judgment. She doesn’t actually do those things since she’s just a dog, but if she could, I know she would.

Is this relationship codependent? Is our dialogue one-sided? Have I projected human traits onto her? Does it even matter? Would she care to tell me if it did?

Ewok, my dog, is the type who would mourn by my side in a Spaghetti Western if something happened to me. She’d howl until a rugged cowboy in flannel and boots arrived to rescue us. He’d gently lift my lifeless body into his truck and become Ewok's new owner, driving away into the sunset. Years later, he would pass our old farmhouse, and Ewok would leap from the passenger window to howl once more. That’s just the kind of dog she is.

Dogs are straightforward; people are complicated. Humans build barriers, making it hard to truly know them, while dogs are like transparent shower doors—you can see right through them.

I never need to question if Ewok is listening; I don’t have to follow up with, “You know what I mean, Ewok?” or “What do you think, Ewok?” or even, “Am I boring you?” Sometimes, I look at her and think, “I wish you could live forever.” I would never say that to a person, as it would be insincere.

Thanks to Betsy Denson for editing this piece. It was a mess before she came in with her editing skills.

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Chapter 2: Canine Wisdom and Human Quirks

The first video, 'Dog the Bounty Hunter' can't believe anyone would vote for no bail, offers a humorous take on loyalty and trust in unexpected places.

The second video titled 'Dog Whisperer' shares his secrets to canine success, providing insights into the relationship between dogs and their owners.