I don’t have a pet of my own, but my son has Luna, a miniature Australian Shepherd who seems to believe that family relationships should be clearly defined.
If Luna could talk, I’m certain the first thing she would say is, “I love your son—but I’m in love with you.”
My son may technically be her person. He feeds her, cares for her, and can make a legitimate claim of ownership. But Luna and I share something deeper. When she lies beside us, she does not simply choose a comfortable place. She chooses me. She settles close, looks at me with those expressive eyes, and makes it perfectly clear where her heart belongs.
My son insists that Luna loves him, and I agree. She absolutely does. But there are different kinds of love. Hers for him is loyal and dependable—the love of a dog for the person who provides dinner. What Luna feels for me is dramatic. It is devoted. It is the kind of love that inspires long stares, strategic cuddling, and a willingness to abandon everyone else in the room when I appear.
Of course, Luna might phrase it differently. Her first words could be, “When are you moving in?” or perhaps, “Could you explain to your son that you are my favorite?”
Whatever she said, I suspect it would confirm what I already know: Luna belongs to my son, but her heart has made other arrangements.
And honestly, I don’t blame her. She has excellent taste.
Leave a Reply