The pugs hear my approach and began to rattle the wire door of their x-pens. Time for our nightly ritual. A bone and venison snack delivered to them once we all have settled on the sofa. They squeal and do concentric donut circles—smaller Waffles spinning inside bigger Alfie’s trajectory in uninhibited anticipation. I grab my water bottle and computer, sometimes a snack and make my way to the sofa, careful not to trip on these whirling dervishes.
I think perhaps this is why dogs and humans originally clicked, those wolf pups coming in from the cold and into the caves, because we are both creatures of habit in love with the familiarity of our rituals. The bone at night, a warm nose nudging our cheek in the morning. Forget the rooster or the sun, we set our time by each other. We crawl into the do-it-again moments of each other’s lives, wearing away uncertainty, creating lives as comfortable as an old shoe.
My pugs and I curl into each other on the sofa becoming one heartbeat as their bones are chewed and finished. I rest in their snores at day’s end and think, I remember this, it feels right.