Puppy to Puppy

Every now and then I glance at Duncan, perched on the arm of the couch, standing in front of me outside waiting to be given a treat after he poops, and especially in the mornings when he ambles up to me and bows, I can see the puppy Ken brought home five years ago this month. It's in his eyes mostly, sometimes the innocent expression on his face, or the way he bats at me with his paws when he's restless and wants to arm wrestle. I can see it when he cocks his head and smiles, or when his eyebrows climb to the top of his forehead when he learns something new.

He wasn't as special to me then, I'll admit it. He was Ken's and his name was supposed to be Jake, but from the moment he winked at me and I picked him up, everything changed. We belonged to each other. Ken was gone a lot then and I was left to raise a puppy, something I was woefully unprepared for and doubt I have the strength, patience and stupidity to do again. But I managed and formed a friendship like none other.

I have been thinking a lot this week of the things I am grateful for and it goes without saying that my dog is at the top of the list. But more than just my dog, I am grateful for the puppy that still lives in him and the one he brings out in me.