i saw the big black dog that meant to kill mister i guess a few years ago. so we go around the swamp to avoid them and they're just sitting there. so i say fuck them, let's just go on, and of course the beast lunges and barks, still homicidal after all these years, and the stern twerp holding the beast just looks at mister, his dark eyes expressionless, jealously. i do not want to look at those eyes, but i do to keep my awareness from slinking. he asked me one time when the killer beast was a puppy how i got mister to be so good and i said i just wanted him to be his best self, and he did too. this guy thought there was some secret. love and diligence i suppose, only secret to the ones without.

it occurs to me you get a dog so you can become your best self. what i did for mister he did for me. there's no explaining that, its instinctive mystery. i only feel like gloating when they seem so obtuse, they can't get to it, i'm gloating inside, just for mister, just for me