The lies we tell ourselves.

I push my nose down close to Buster’s, make like I’m about to bestow a big smacker, and the very hairs on his face go trembly. He fairly quivers with ecstasy—he loves me that much.

False.

Okay then, he’s wondering what I just ate. He thinks it might’ve been peanut butter. Will he get some, maybe?

False again. He’s not questioning, wishing. He’s only smelling. Or that’s what my husband says, anyhow. Opposed on principle to anthropomorphism, he makes a point of reminding me—I don’t know how often—it’s just the food.

Why does he do this? Why dash my hopes?

Don’t you, too, like to believe your boy pooch is bats about you? Besotted? That all is as it seems? But then you’d be loving him mercilessly. You’d be sitting him up to your table, tying on his bib. Taking him to the dentist. Patting him on demand. Consoling him after his nightmares, feeling his every fear. Insisting on boots and an umbrella. Squelching his hunting instincts, because squirrels, too, would matter, and baby bunnies. Making him go along to church, because, you know, salvation. He’d be one more soul in your care. He’d be somebody else you could hurt, without even trying. He’d be someone more to overlook, or disappoint, or even crush.

As mistaken as we’d like to be, perceiving our pets as human, and as shortchanged as we might feel because they’re not, we’re also relieved. Pets are easy. Truly, we’re happy to be wrong, to be nursing our little fibs.

Some time back, at Grift & Sift, I found the most perfect scratch paper—a whole big wad of outdated Thoughts of Dog calendar pages, blank on the back. Here’s the best mutt ever. Except for his bad hair, he’s completely the kind of dog I want and don’t want. As for what bubbles up from his mind, I see nothing for my husband to fuss about.

He—Dog—thinks stuff like:

i have never fully trusted my tail. what is it doing back there? and unsupervised? i do not think so

days of the week mean very little to me. but they mean everything. to the human. for example. today is a pretty okay day of the week. and so are the next few. but after that. terrible. you would think the world is ending. then we slowly get okay again

do not lint roll. my hair off of you. that was a gift

gooooob morning. you can do it. i do not know what it is. but i do know you

i found a really good stick. but i chewed it too hard. and it broke in half. which was disappointing until i realized. now i have two sticks. today has been. an emotional roller coaster