The dog is waiting for his Master.
He sits on the cold bricks and fixes his gaze on the door of the establishment where the one he loves has gone.
The icy wind blows his hair, and flaps his ears.
He sits. Stoic.
He’s lightly tethered to a chair. He could walk away with it. Drag it behind him and try to free himself. But he doesn’t.
Once in awhile, he turns his head and looks in either direction, surveying the scene.
But he always comes back to this position. Eyes forward.
Waiting for the Master to return.
Waiting for the Master to tell him what’s next.
Waiting to be taken to someplace they’ll go.
Waiting for the assurance and love that he knows will come.
His loyalty is evidence of their powerful bond.
The dog trusts and respects the Master.
So he waits.
I could learn a lot from the dog.