When I was a little girl, I opened the door to go outside and play, and found that my front porch had become the resting ground of a baby bird who had flown the nest much too early. I closed the door and broke into sobs, so devastated by the crumpled wings. Later, when I’d gathered my emotions, I went out to give the baby a birdie burial. But I heard my dad on the other side of the door.

            “Uh oh,” he said to someone, I think my brother. “We better take care of this before Sierra finds it.”

            He knew about my tender nature. He knew that my first love, before I loved writing, or theatre, or movies, or hanging out with friends, I first loved animals. I even wanted to become a vet before I realized that I had no brain for science whatsoever.

            I still think that the very saddest day of my life was the day my dog died. Now, you might say that I haven’t had a very hard life, which might be true, but I tell you that to illustrate that really, I have a deep and profound love for animals.

            The love lay dormant for a few years. Once I got into college, I didn’t have time to think about pets or animals of any sort. But a little over a year ago, my friend asked me to pet/house sit their dog, Sadi, and it was easy to remember why I love dogs so much. I was having a sad day, and Sadi got up onto the couch with me (I assume that was allowed) and very intuitively placed her paw in my open hand. I didn’t ask for it or prompt it. The dog was just a good. And it made my whole day better.

            Our current apartment is not conducive to any sort of critter, and Jeremy doesn’t have paws, but he has found a way to help me through sad days.

Today, I was having a bad day. He sent me this: