My Father’s Lap
by Trina Matous
Years ago I sat down on the couch to have a quiet time. Tov, my loveable dog, immediately hopped up, walked over and made himself at home on my lap. Full of expectation, he gently poked his nose into my hand, then sat contently as I stroked the back of his head. Occasionally he redirected my hand to make sure I was getting just the right spots – under his chin, behind his ear, across his nose. Stopping was out of the question. At even the suggestion, Tov’s nose was back in my hand, sometimes gently, sometimes insistently, but always filled with expectation and anticipation.
As I sat there, I thought about (more…)