I am lost in Morris’s eyes. They are brown, almond-shaped and fringed by impossibly long lashes. He looks back at me, softly blinking occasionally, and then reaches out his tongue and licks my cheek, just once.
I’ve been depressed lately, and while I’ve received compassion and support from many dear people, Morris, my 10-year-old terrier, has been one of the greatest sources of comfort. With that reassuring lick, that steady gaze, he’s conveying a message: “It’s OK. Everything will be all right.”
