I lie on the cool floor and watch him stumble through the door. The musty smell of stale beer is strong in the air, mixed with the smell of fresh grass outside. This is one of those days. I can tell the minute he walks in; his eyes look wild, and his movements are erratic. I tremble inside; it always ends the same.

​

"Buddy!" he slurs before slumping onto the couch. I wag my tail, expecting to get a scratch behind the ears or play fetch. Some days are like this. Today, however—this is one of those days. He glares at me, his voice piercing. "Get out of the way!"

​

My stomach tightens, and I can feel the fear—I shrink back. I love him, even when he's mean to me; I know he doesn't mean it deep down inside—it's the drink talking. Oh, how I hate it when he drinks beer. I move close to him by the edge of the couch, hoping that he will soon calm down. Instead, he tells me to move. I curl up in my corner, trying to be small—this will soon pass.

​

But as night falls, something changes. The bottle empties, and I see a glimpse of the man I know beneath the haze. He reaches over for me, and my heart screams for not knowing what might happen next. He might give me treats, licks maybe? —cuddles maybe? “C'mere, boy,” he whispers softly. I run to him, my tail wagging—even though I’m afraid of what might happen next. Maybe tonight he will remember how to love me. Maybe we'll be okay tonight; maybe he is himself again.

​

He holds me close; he runs his fingers through my fur, and just for a minute, all the harsh and mean words and all the long nights spent hiding in my corner fade away. He calls my name so softly, as if he is telling me a secret. I take advantage of this moment; I don't know when he will be like this again. I lean into him, taking in the warmth of his body. Times like this don’t come around very often. We stay like this for a long time, deep in our own world. I do not move an inch, as I do not want this moment to pass. I press against his hand, and I get the smile I am hoping for—a glimpse of a grin appears on his face, the shade of the tree beside the window blocking his features. I tilt my head to the side; the moonlight reveals it is indeed a grin—a reminder of the guy I love. “You deserve better,” he mumbles, pulling me in tighter. I want to bark and tell him how much I love him, and I will never leave him. Even if I do, he won’t understand, or maybe he will get mad at me for barking and hit me—so I stay silent and in the moment. I don’t want it to end.

​

Moments later, he gets up and heads to the kitchen. Another bottle. So unpredictable. I wonder if all owners are like this. Sweet sometimes, mean sometimes. Complicated.