Good Dog

Marv, his black fur smooth as velvet, lays his warm head on my lap and looks up at me.

Mark Knofler plays the Sultans of Swing, backed by the chorus of frogs in the pond outside my library window.

Marv smiles at me as I scratch behind his good ear, and he rumbles contentedly when I cup his soft graying jowls in my hand and tell him he is my favorite dog in the world.

Diana Krall croons Let's Face the Music and Dance, and Marv sighs and ambles over to his bed and curls up, positioning himself so he can watch me.

Maybe I'm good for another pet, maybe a moonlit walk, maybe just a smile and a sense of belonging.

Whatever he wants.

And Marv is thinking, whatever he needs.