The best and most thoughttully chosen dogs weave in and out of our lives as if they just grew there, like a favorite plant. They just find ways to fit in. They mark the passages of our lives, we often don’t know for awhile why they came. Or why they go.

In my study is Lenore’s couch, a beautiful restored Victorian sofa from an old farmhouse.  Lenore loved to sleep on that sofa while I wrote, my desk is just across the old parlor. I have a poster of the great clown Lou Jacobs hanging overheard, Lenore’s portrait has moved to the living room.

I have, of course, piled all sorts of camera and office equipment on the couch, but I left a space in the middle on the off chance Gus would want to sleep there sometimes. He loves it, he is often there.

Unlike Lenore, he slips in and out quietly and silently, I am sometimes surprised to see him, there, but it is a safe and cozy spot, and it is becoming Gus’s couch, rather than Lenore’s couch. I am open to change, and do not like nostalgia or lament for the past.

Sometimes, different threads come together. My dogs seem to know that sofa is important.

I have to say I love the image of him peeking out of the middle of the sofa, as if he grew there. I feel like he gets the meaning of it, although that may be a projection.

Gus is a good one.