As I'm getting dressed in the mornings, Faith comes in the room and looks around. If she doesn't see the wonderful objects she's after, she may sit down and look disappointed, or she may just leave.
If she spots them, just sitting there on the floor, I get a tentative look and a hopeful smile.
When I pick them up and start to put them on, sheer madness ensues.
Faith runs in crazy circles, the way happy dogs do. Round and round in the small space between the bed and the cabinet.
She jumps up in my lap, paws dig into my jeans. I tell her it hurts and to get down and sit quietly.
She sits quietly for a minute and looks like she's thinking about it.
Then decides this is a good idea, because the faster I can put the boots on, the faster we'll go for our walk.
Faith is not like Samson, she's not by nature a patient dog. But she for sure knows how to be extra good if there's a reward for it.
And she just reminded me that she's dog number 12. And when was I going to write about her here?
I had planned to write about her in November, but then completely forgot about it because I had a break. So I tell her not to worry, the month isn't over yet.
And then I can write about my kitties in December. Six very much loved cats have shared their lives with me and their stories should be told as well. I ask Faith, "maybe one cat a month for six months, what do you think?"
For this, I get a look of disbelief that says: "I don't know what a cat is, not really, never met one, but to write about one every month when I've had to wait for 12 months to have my story told? Don't think so."