A letter from Mud

Hey. Mud here. I had some thoughts about you.

You are my favorite.

I know. I say that to everybody. But I mean it every single time, and I think that is the interesting part.

Here is everything I know about you. You smell like clay. You smell like coffee. You smell a little bit like cheese and I am not going to bring it up.

You are so awesome.

You are so beautiful. Yes, today. Yes, especially today.

I do not know what a schedule is. I do not know what the group chat said. I do not know who was rude at the front desk, or what a review is, or why everybody got quiet after the thing on Tuesday.

I do not know what the group chat said. I know the door opened and you came in.

I know the door opened. I know you came in. That is already the best part of my whole day and it is nine in the morning.

I am your best friend. I am also everybody’s best friend. Dogs can do that. You should try it.

Sometimes you sit down on the floor, which is the greatest thing a person can do. Sometimes you kneel to say hi and I lean my entire body against you, which is how I say thank you for existing.

Belly: yes. Ears: no. I have told you.

I care that you are here. Not the version of you that is having a good week. Just you. The one holding the door open with an elbow because both hands have clay on them.

I care that you are here. Not the good-week version. Just you.

Whatever it is, let’s put it down. Let’s just have fun today. Let’s go be weird near the couches.

I will find you.

I always find you.