The yearning

There is a place in the heart of a dog that defies understanding. There is a look in their eyes of yearning and reaching to communicate — of wanting to, to, to what? Wanting to eat, to sleep, to be near and ready to chase squirrel, rabbit or ball, ever willing to chew on a stick or a fine nylon bone? But that look — that seeking of something just beyond comprehension — that sadness as if they know we just don’t get it and perhaps never will.

And then that contentedness, as if we don’t understand because it’s just so simple — that leaning in as if all they ever yearned for was that hug, that rough massaging of the ears, that two-handed yes-you-are-such-a-good-dog affirmation.

Those are the moments when maybe we do understand each other and all that was really needed was a nearness, a companionship, an I see you and it is enough to be next to each other and having a moment together, and all the yearning either of us ever had is satisfied in this quiet moment, this indescribable quiet, this “here you are and here and I and nothing else is necessary and nothing else matters.” And maybe I do understand after all.

Published by WarrenBluhm

Wordsmith and podcaster, Warren is a reporter, editor and storyteller who lives near the shores of Green Bay with his wife, two golden retrievers, Dejah and Summer, and Blackberry, an insistent cat. Author of It's Going to Be All Right, Echoes of Freedom Past, Full, Refuse to be Afraid, Gladness is Infectious, 24 flashes, How to Play a Blue Guitar, Myke Phoenix: The Complete Novelettes, A Bridge at Crossroads, The Imaginary Bomb, A Scream of Consciousness, and The Imaginary Revolution.

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