When I came home tonight, after a long drive in the cold and ice, Duncan was curled up on the couch as he often is, his chin supported on the arm-rest so that he can look out the patio doors at the world below. I've seen him there more times than I could count, but what made me smile and broke my heart all at once was what he'd brought with him.
More often than not his toys are scattered on the floor around him, Bash, the blue hammerhead laying under the coffee table, dropped when Duncan dozed, a fuzzy green tennis ball not far away. Sometimes one or two will be resting near his head or propped on his hip in the same manner that Duncan cuddles against me when I lay on the couch. None of his toys were near him tonight, though. Instead, he'd pulled my sweater from the doorknob where I'd lazily hung it last night, carried it down the hall into the living room, placed it on the couch and laid on top of it, using it as a sort of pillow while he slept away the afternoon waiting for me to come home.
I have several pictures of him on my desk at work so that every time I look up I can see him grinning back at me, but he laid on my sweater all day, breathing me in and perhaps dreaming about the moment I arrived home to take him out to play in the snow. Sometimes the evidence of his love for me is overwhelming and I am reminded again to count my blessings.