I lose my temper.
I get angry.
I shout, yell, and swear.
And the being who often finds herself at the receiving end of my outbursts loves me in spite of it. And no, I'm not talking about my wife. If she had to put up with half of what my dog goes through I'd be divorced before the end of this sentence.
And it's magical. And challenging. I don't deserve (or necessarily want) the licks from her. I don't understand why she brings me toys or why, after my wife leaves for work in the morning, I still find companionship in the bed. Her tail wags whenever I say her name.
To love like a dog, might just be to have a glimpse of the divine.
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