Poor Jack. He might like me well enough, and he certainly enjoys our walks, but he really loves our daughter, Jane. This week she started high school and for the past two days Jack has spent a good part of his time lying on the bed with the cat, looking longingly out the window.
I confess I've always been a cat person, but Jane has wanted a dog for as long as she's known what they were (probably from the womb, but who can say). For most of Jane's life our family lived in urban or densely populated suburban areas, and always in apartments, so she could never have a dog of her own. We promised her that if we moved to a house with a yard she could get a dog. (This is where historians may argue about the accuracy of my account...her father insists this was never his agreement, but he's wrong and this is my narrative.) So here we are in our little rural house with a yard in the Upper Peninsula and she finally has a dog that's devoted to her. Maybe high school will be more bearable with Jack here to greet her every day. I sure hope so.