Little Dog: You look down.
Me: I get up in the morning, I do a bunch of chores, I take care of Z, I hang out with you, and I go to bed.
Little Dog: I like the part where you hang out with me.
Me: It’s a highlight. Still, nobody’s going to be writing any books about me. What were you thinking about?
Little Dog: Dying.
Me: Way to double down. What about it?
Little Dog: I guess how, all things being equal, I’d rather not.
Little Dog: Although when you think about it, part of what makes life so meaningful is that at any moment death can take it away.
Me: Deep, Little Dog.
Little Dog: I’m profound.
Me: So is that what you’re thinking about when you’re chilling in the living room? The meaning of life?
Little Dog: Sometimes. Sometimes it’s other stuff.
Little Dog: Like yesterday, for example, I was thinking about that time I slipped and fell into the pool at the grandparents’ house.
Little Dog: It’s as good a way to learn to swim as any.
Little Dog: And this morning I was thinking about how long it’s been since I had a chance to tear up one of the dryer balls.
Me: I’m getting better at keeping them off the floor.
Little Dog: So chewy and woolen and delicious.
Me: I’ll take your word for it.
Little Dog: And then just now I was thinking about death, and how much it sucks.
Me: So, to sum up: Sometimes you think about swimming. And sometimes you think about dryer balls. And sometimes you think about death.
Little Dog: And how much it sucks.
Me: There it is.