Cho is an old dog. He is a vigorous dog. Impatient and requiring large amounts of what I have or don’t have. It doesn’t matter. I react and respond to his many demands in my own way. Sometimes I welcome his touch, his need or love the way he jumps the fence with such a grace. Runs the fields with enviable speed and dexterity. Not so in the night – it’s always the “middle” to me. Not so much when I hear “get that dog ….. or I’ll….” Then I wish he were just focussed on me. My needs. My wants. Cho is not a working dog. And he never will be. Doesn’t mean he won’t do what I say. But it does mean his choice is on his mind.
Were I to see him as he is, or rather, when I do, I adore the old sentient Being, the Trickster, the Forecaster, the Runner. Cho might be just a dog, and an irritating one at that, but he embodies all the qualities he embodies. No more, no less. Just like I do. Just like you do. He’s us and he’s not. And right now he’s quiet and I’m not lonely.