A Letter to the Dog Who Waited

You waited by the door every evening at 6:40, ten minutes before my key turned in the lock. I never taught you that. You simply knew.

When I worked late, you waited longer. When I was sad, you put your head on my knee and waited through that too. You were very good at waiting. I am not sure I ever told you how much it meant.

Now I am the one waiting. I still listen for your collar at 6:30, even though the house is quiet. Some evenings I say your name out loud just to hear it in the room.

I hope wherever you are, no one makes you wait. I hope the door opens early. And I hope you know that the ten minutes before I came home were the best ten minutes of my day, because I knew you were on the other side of them.