Ever since I was three, I have had a dream.
 
I want a dog, a fluffy one, lying on the ground with her big eyes winking to say Hi. Sadly, everyone in my family had all kinds of reasons to disappoint me. This wondering-then-denying circle lasted for a long time until my wish shrank, but dogs’ attraction to me never wanes.
 
So, Mrs. Margaret Renkl’s article “Everything I Know About Hope I Learned From My Dog” caught my eye. Her hopeful dogs are funny. Especially the one named Rascal, hoping to catch birds through windows. But what touched me were “the desolate faces of pets left at the shelter by the only families they have ever known.”
 
Those poor little lives made me wonder, if my dog comes, how will I treat her? On some tiresome days, will I be immersed in the phone while forgetting to feed her? On other stressful days, will I be annoyed by her ball-playing invitations, then, shout at her? Imagining her bright eyes, sparkling with anticipation, but gradually dimmed by my negligence, I’m glad that I never had a dog.
 
To my dog, I’m not only a master who provides a home, but also a benefiter she will guard throughout her life. But what does she mean to me? A companionship I might already get from family and friends? A toy to tease me from time to time? Or just a pet, a novelty I want on a whim? Comparing the way I feel about her to how she feels about me … No, it’s incomparable.
 
To my never-arrived dog: thank you for never arriving.