Last week, Sarah dropped half an avocado toast. I looked at it. She looked at me. She said, “Five-second rule?” I ate it. No plate. No dignity. Just floor guacamole and a quiet sense of purpose.
Here’s how I know.
I am the dog of this house.
Whenever someone comes home, I hear the key in the lock and I launch off the couch. Not because I’m lonely, but because it is my sacred duty to welcome them. “How was work?” I ask. “Traffic sucked,” they reply, already walking past me. I follow them to the kitchen anyway. I am never the one being welcomed. I am the welcome mat with legs. i became the dog in an all female household