As I have previously blogged about, we now have a two-year-old, 86-pound Golden Retriever as a central part of our household. He is worth his weight in gold as a pal and companion to both of us in this time of heart and dialysis perturbations. My wife tells me that when I leave, he (Dickens), lays down by the back door where I exited until my return. At breakfast, he lies on the floor beside me, ever so gently touching, until I finish breakfast. When I’m setting up the Liberty Cycler for my night’s dialysis treatment, he sits by the bed across from the machine until I have completed the setup. At night when we are watching TV, he often places himself equal distance between my wife and I while stretched out to his almost six-foot length. As I write this he initially supervised my setting up to write the blog and often ensconces himself in the footwell of our antique roll-top desk behind me. He is physically and emotionally supportive for both me and my wife – and anyone entering our home. He has no enemies, human or animal.
I recently ran across the poem below, which is applicable to how Dickens behaves:
Alone I sit by the door,
Ears perked up, eyes on the floor.
The day drifts slowly, passing by,
I watch the shadows, hear a sigh.
The house is quiet, still and bare,
But I can sense you in the air.
Each creak and rustle makes me leap,
In hopes your footsteps break my sleep.
The sun sinks low, the light grows dim,
Yet still I wait, my patience slim.
For when you come, the world’s made right,
In your embrace, the dark turns bright.
So here I’ll stay, with wagging tail,
And dreams of you in every trail.
For in your love, my heart finds home,
No longer do I wait alone.
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