Yesterday I was afraid...

that my dog didn't love me anymore.

Me, who was a stay at home dog mom when I first started grad school so that I could train him and exercise him, and keep him from being crated all the time.

Me, who has to ice pick his frozen poop out of our backyard in negative temperatures.

Me, who has been late to work countless times because he threw up just as I was about to leave for work, because he ate grass the night before, even as I yelled at him to not eat grass.

Me, who begged and pleaded to keep him when Tim said we should cut our losses and sell him, during his 6-month "I'm going to pee all over myself and my crate every time you leave me" stage.

He was with the wonderful Feezors while we were gone, and had become used to hanging out with his doggy friends Casey and Bella. He acted as though we tore him from his pack. He moped, and yes, dogs can mope.

But then today, when I came in the back door from work, I heard him bounding/falling down the stairs to greet me, and he did his lean-into-me-so-much-it-almost-knocks-me-over, and I knew we were best buds again.