Sometimes I see it in the big moments; often it’s in the small. The fact that Oz (our black-and-white lurcher) would rather sleep under the kitchen table when I’m writing, even though the sofa is by far the comfier option. The way he rolls on to his back when I greet him each morning, exposing his chasmic armpits for a tickle. Or the way he makes sure to lick and nibble both of my earlobes, left then right, with snuffling gusto.
What other word is there to describe these joyful moments than love?
