Teeth

So many times lately I find myself looking over toward Brian in bed, ready to say something or another. It’s then that I realize he’s not there at all. I have a giant dog who takes up half the bed, and the way he snores and the way my husband snores are not unalike. (If I’m being honest, though, I can tell you that the dog is much louder than the man.)

But it brings such sadness when I turn my head and open my mouth to speak and realize that there’s nothing there but an aging pit bull who (if I’m being honest) is not very friendly, and who (if I’m being honest) is not warm and fuzzy and full of silliness and cuddles like all of the other cute pit bulls you see on social media.

This one’s got teeth.

I have one of those bone-shaped magnets on the back of my minivan. I love my pit bull.

Should there be another one that says, I love my husband?

Well, the dog is the one who’s here right now, so he will get my attention and love this night. I lean back and stroke his big, blocky head. He groans, either with delight or irritation.

Sometimes it can be hard to tell the difference between the two.