Kallie

She’s curled on my bed, tail tucked in and paws clutched to her stomach. The light glistens on her coat, illuminating every strand with a soft glow. I run my hand down her side, and my touch melts on contact. She’s always warm and cozy, wrapped in her blanket of fur, a forever comfort. Her stomach rises and falls with every breath. I try to match my breathing with hers, but its so slow, like she’s trying to capture then release ever single oxygen atom, my lungs cannot take it. She begins to twitch, a low growl escapes from her throat, but her eyes are closed. She is dreaming. What is she seeing? Is she chasing a squirrel, or maybe a cat? Is she rescuing me from a fatal disaster? I suddenly realize that she has the capability to take my life, maul my body. But she doesn’t. She lets me pet her, lets me hug her, kiss her nose. Why? I suppose I will never know. She lets out a heavy sigh and I could feel the warmth of it. I rub her head, her ears. She opens her eyes and looks at me. Her eyes are a chocolate brown, and whenever mine meet hers, it tugs at my heart. What does she see when she looks at me? Does it tug at her heart too? Does she feel safe, loved, and not so alone when she lies next to me, the way I do? My eyes well up, and i bury my face in her neck. Her smell is intoxicating, my favourite aroma. I know I’ll be covered in dog hair when I realised her, but I don’t care, I love it. I know that there will never be another life her, she is unique in every way. Her mood swings, her “swimming” on the living room floor, and wanting me to chase her for hours on end. I must embrace these times, for they will not last much longer. I wonder if she knows this. If she’s trying to spend as many hours with me as possible before her time is up. Does she feel the long I give her? Does she know I’d rather taunt a lion than hear her cry? I remember when we first got her. She would whine and yelp inside her house late at night, howling with loneliness. I crept down the stairs and unlocked the little door, and out came a tiny fur ball, no bigger than my torso. I lifted her into my lap, she licked my hand as I did so. I stroked her body as she drifted to sleep. I had an angel in my arms. I still do. I wish I could grow old with her, watch the world age with her by my side. But in my heart I know this wish will not be granted. No shooting star can ever give me what I really want. When she leaves, it will cast a shadow over me. In darkness, I will dwell for countless days; nothing will ease her passing. So if dogs don’t go to heaven, when I die, I want to go where they go.