Thoughts and Feelings On and For a Sleeping Dog

I know he’s sleeping.
I can tell by the way his eyes rest shut.
I can tell by his deep, comfortingly slow, rhythmic breathing.
And as I watch his white tufted paws twitch, I wonder what he is dreaming about.
Is he here, prowling the yard, or are his adventures somewhere else, somewhere more exotic?
I smile as his paws still and he begins sniffing his catch, eyes still sweetly shut.
Am I in his dream?

A pang of sorrow mars my gentle mirth.
Somehow, in his slumber he no longer seems mine.
He doesn’t need me.

I am worried that I’m not in his dream.
I want to reach out and pet him, to coax him awake with my love, but I watch as his feet resume their twitching and his breath slows back to its deep pattern instead.
‘Let him rest,’ I tell myself.
My fingers tingle with the desire to pull him onto my lap so I can burry my face in his soft black fur and kiss his brown, fuzzy forehead -- right between the ears.

He stirs.

Furry, tan speckled legs stretch as he pushes a contented sigh through his black, cold, dry nose.
Is he awake?
I lean to get a better view of his fur shrouded face.
One half lidded eye shifts lazily to see me.
An easy smile breaks on my face.
I no longer feel needless.
He is mine and I run my long fingers through his even longer fur.