When it has been a long day, when events have conspired to drain me of energy or hope, when words fail to communicate emotions and desires, there is nothing like a good cuddle with a soft domestic brother to the wolf.
Nicholai is a dog who enjoys his personal space. He eschews hugs and tires quickly of too much handling. During the day, he loves to accompany me on our walks and hikes of course, and he loves to ride shotgun while I drive on errands. Lounging at home, he prefers his private spots – a bolster bed tucked into an out-of-the-way corner of the living room, or his mattress behind the washer in the basement. But late in the evening, after I've tucked our youngest into bed and am changing into my own pj's, Nicholai pads up the stairs and lumbers into the bedroom. He climbs onto the bed via a set of carpeted steps and plops down at the foot of the bed, rolling to his side, lifting his leg, offering his belly for a rub. If I don't respond immediately, he'll whine or grumble.
Tonight I pulled a pillow next to him and lay with my arm around his back, gently stroking his belly and chest. Dodging the inevitable speed bump on his male tummy, my hand came to the huge lymph tumors on his lower belly. I stopped for a moment, let my mind wander to worry, and then buried my nose in his soft black fur. He smelled sweet, and slightly musky. When I didn't continue to gently stroke him, he whined, pushed at my hand with his foot.
I chuckled. He brings my focus to the moment. Forget what if's, maybe's, second guessing. There is only right now – sweet, musky, soft black body, ribcage expanding and contracting with each breath, heart gently beating. Commanding me to stay focused on the present.
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