Sorry, friends. No gold trophy. No Purple Heart. You’re really great, all of you who have been there for me. But the truth is, nobody beats my dog, Toms. My closest friend is my sixteen-year-old shih tzu.
You heard it!
His breath smells like…I can’t even describe it. So miraculous, so wonderful, so similar to…what was that stench? Oscar the Grouch’s garbage can–before Oscar takes a shower?
His ears? Well he’s deaf.
His eyes? He can barely see the kibble.
Despite his flaws, he’s my dog. He’s been there since I was two.
Despite his peeing on Ellen’s socks or pooping in front of Amanda, he’s been there for me, a safe being to tell my secrets to. I mean, nothing can describe the kind of closeness two organisms feel when one takes the other on strolls to urinate. That’s just love.