My dog is my dog. We are together. We keep company as if we were alone. We suffer no fools. We bark together at the neighbors who sometimes bark back.

I am his dog. I will not fail him. There is no weakness here, there is no room for ambivalence. I see him listen and I listen too. When I lie down he comes to me. We eat together. He shows me the water. He holds it in his mouth until he can reach me, bowing his head, curtsying as he lets the drops down gently on my leg. This is his obeisance. This is how he masters me.

We hide our bones under the bed when it rains. When the sun comes out we bring the bones into the grass fields. We offer our bones to each other.

We fight. I push him down but he won't go down so I drag him inside and then leave him alone. This is the worst transgression. I shut the door on him. I am not a dog and therefore I fail him. I lied. He will never fail me. I lied because I am not a dog.

In the end I rub his eyes the way he likes and he licks my hand and in the end he has taught me everything that will ever matter. How to hide. How to be true. How loyalty works. How to forgive even this.

Oh Bashi. I missed you all day. I missed you.