Puppy Love

I am dog-sitting.

My mother is traveling the west coast with her fiance and has left in my care, her beloved Maltese (affectionately referred to as my "little brother"). He resembles a white muppet, with hair that sticks up like Animal's when you play with it, and an underbite that always makes him look like he's smiling. He's paper-trained, loves to nap, and doesn't crave the outdoors on hot, humid days. In other words, he's pretty low-maintenance as far as dogs go.

The last few days I've woken up to wet licks on my nose, reminding me that he does need to eat and enjoys his meal early in the morning. He digs through my sheets as though it's a suburban backyard, and when he's finished dining, runs around in a circle on the rug, chasing his own tail. Then, he'll meander over to the couch and snooze. Then, when the day is done, we climb in to bed together and he lays on his back ready for his belly to be tickled.

My days have been long lately. I work from home which sometimes makes them longer since there seems to be no separation between where I work and where I rest - so I tend to just usually work which doesn't always seem that bad when you are able to do it with MSNBC on in the background. But it catches up with me. And I realize that I am tired and burnt and sometimes so stressed I want to just go to sleep and not wake up.

But the last couple of nights I realize I haven't dreaded the morning. There's something about waking up to a set of little black eyes and floppy white ears and the forgiving, always-loving kisses of a sweet little pooch that make mornings and the days that follow just a little more bearable.