Member-only story
Hand to Leash
A friend in deed
It’s all a matter of reaching.
Who reaches up and who reaches down. What does it look like from his perspective, down there so close to the ground with me looming above him, coming down closer, talking in that singsong voice?
I lay down here on the floor so that we’re eye to eye but that doesn’t fly.
He is not at all comfortable with me being down here at his level. He shifts, turns his head, barely tolerating my invasion of his plane. Overthinking things as I do, it occurs to me that he has no way to return the favor without my help. I’m pretty sure it won’t be something he likes and he doesn’t.
So back down he goes.
It’s tempting to install one of those home security cameras to see what he’s up to during the day while I’m at work but I don’t. Cost aside, it seems like a violation of his privacy which, yes I know, is more overthinking on my part. Like, he wouldn’t even know.
Right?
And then there’s the way he goes crazy when I get home. I’m a sucker, I’ll admit it. From the moment I shut down the computer at work, I’m already anticipating the clicking of his nails hitting the foyer floor as I turn the key. And, my God, the ecstatic leaping and twisting and wiggling and head butting that greets me. Every time I…
