The Love Song of Sasha Goldfarb

My dog loves her mistress. Not that she isn't thrilled to see every member of our family, but I am the one for whom she pines. Sasha gazes at me longingly with her big brown almond shaped eyes, whimpers when I scratch her ears and throws herself at my feet, submissively rolling onto her back, giving herself to me.

Best of all is the show I get when I come home, either from a long or short absence: she sings to me and does a little dance for several minutes before finally settling down. Poor thing won't even go outside to do her business right away, even when I know she is bursting. First she must sing her love song of whoops and whines, wiggle her butt, fling her tail and flop at my feet. Then maybe she can hold still enough to give me a kiss before heading into the yard to empty her bladder.

It is great to be loved.