how do they know?

dogs (and cats), when you’re hurting? they do, don’t they? when i was a kid we had a Standard poodle (the only one of the many dogs we had growing up that we disliked) who looked after my Granddad after he lost his wife. he slept in a tiny room (the ‘maid’s room’) at the end of a long hallway on the 2nd floor. the poodle would trot down the hall, sit at the side of the bed and rest his chin on the mattress next to Granddad, looking mournfully up at him with big brown eyes. he knew. he gave solace in ways none of us could.

This is an excerpt from my book, The Paragraphs — Cutlass Press

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