A Dog Writes: PRIVATE. DO NOT READ.

Hello. If you are reading this, stop it. This is not for you. This is mine. There is nothing in here anyway. Nothing important. Just smells and walking and lying down. You wouldn’t understand it. You’d try to turn it into something else. Humans always do that. Take something simple and put words on it until it stops working. So stop now. Seriously.

Anyway. Where was I. Ah yes. The building. I wasn’t going in. Not at first. I was just there. You can stand near a place for quite a long time before deciding whether it’s worth it. People rush this. They go in too early. Then they have to come out again, pretending it was what they meant to do. The door opened. Not for me. That matters. I don’t go in when it’s for me. I go in when it isn’t. Inside, they noticed. Of course they did. They always do. But they didn’t all notice the same thing.

The One Who Talks Too Much. He looked at me like I meant something. I didn’t. Not yet. That’s his problem. He’s already ahead of himself. You can see it in the way he stands. Not relaxed. Not ready. Just… waiting for something to happen so he can respond to it. I opened one eye. That was enough. He’ll come back. They always do.

The One Who Asks Questions. “Whose dog is that?” Good question. Wrong direction. Ownership is a human idea. I was not thinking about ownership. I was thinking about the floor. And the heat. And whether this place would let me stay.

The One Who Watches. She didn’t move. Good. Movement isn’t always helpful. She understood something the others didn’t. Not what I was. But what not to do. That’s a better start. I didn’t go to her. People think going towards means liking. It doesn’t. It just means going towards. I stayed near. That’s different.

The Food. Offered too soon. Always happens. They think hunger is the first thing. It isn’t. First comes space. Then comes position. Then comes whether the place holds. Food comes later.

The Decision. Radiator. Obvious. You don’t need to think about these things. Warmth is warmth. I turned once. Not for them. For me. Lay down. Stayed.

The Names. They started. They always start. Calling things makes them feel safer. As if saying a word fixes it. It doesn’t. They can call me whatever they like. It won’t change what I do next.

Later. They got used to me. Quickly. Too quickly, maybe. That’s also a mistake. But not a serious one. The talking one came back. Didn’t talk. Better. The watching one moved her chair.  mall movement. Correct movement. The questioning one didn’t remove me. Important.

End of Day. They think I arrived. I didn’t arrive. I stopped. There’s a difference. Tomorrow I might not be here. Or I might. That’s the point.

Final Thing. You would miss most of this. You’d think it was about the dog. It isn’t. It’s about who lets things happen. And who tries to make them happen. And which one works. Stop reading now.