Probably 5 nights a week there are little paws on my lap. Little is I guess relative in this instance, as Beas paws are smaller than Sam’s but no means little.
They are tough and strong, capable of smacking Joe in the mouth and splitting his lip in play.
They are swift and light as a game of chase is played with Sam, flying over the ground at nearly top speed daring him to catch you and catching him in return.
They are a weapon in the game of snufflemats and destruction of Nancy, frantically clawing or smacking to release more treats or pinning Nancy down to be eaten yet again.
They ballerina trot as you are excited to explore on a walk, head up high, legs straight and paws daintily trotting along.
They are muddy and wet after a sniffari on the field, you halt on the indoor mat and wait for us to bring you a towel to dry you off.
They pitter patter on the tiled floor of the house, as you trot from one room to another, looking for your person or bed of choice at that time.
They are rigid and twitching as you dream of racing, panting and flailing.
They bear the wear and tear of time on the track, cracks in the paw pads, rough edges and a missing dew claw.
They have carried you more miles in service of sport for humans than I care to thing about, I hope that they will carry you many more on softer adventures with us.
They are right now in my lap, where they belong. It’s time you put your feet up.
