The substantial-ness of a woman’s best friend

If I had to put a word to what I miss most about my dog Reuben, it’s his ‘substantialness’. His immensity. It’s not just his physicality – his large barrel chest, his impossibly long, crazy legs,  his large, large head, 1/4  part pit bull maybe – who knows, who cares –  those dark, dark brown soulful eyes, constantly watching me –  but I also miss his way of being – you know the way a person, or soul and in this case a dog, fills a room, even with their quietness, their fortitude, their undying love and need to be close at all times, just to make sure, because he needed to take care of me and as it turned out, I needed to take care of him. But I also miss his soft muzzle that sometimes found it’s way into my hand when we were walking, or how his tongue grazed my palm when he drank water, or how on dark, quiet, early mornings he would jump from his bed onto our bed, next to me, to cuddle – and we’d lie there waiting for the morning to start, waiting for the day to break. Sometimes Dave would say to me – “Reub knows it’s Saturday today. He definitely knows.” I loved how he grew into every crevice of my heart, all the dark places, all the light places and all the places in between – how substantial that felt, how big, how immense. Some people said he was such a lucky guy. How he won the lottery when he first found me and then found Dave and then found his beloved grandma. But really, I’m the one who won the lottery. We were the real winners.