I love you, too.

I walk into my bedroom where the dog, Pepe, is asleep on the foot of my bed. I should probably tell him to get down, but I don't really mind. At least he's sleeping on the quilt. I put it there to keep his fur off my comforter. Sometimes I'll walk in and he'll be sleeping in my spot, under the covers, head on the pillow. I sit down on the edge of the bed next to him. He's snoring. I start absentmindedly scratching his belly. He groans like he always does when I rub his belly. Then I pick up his paw. He whines and pulls it away from me, he hates it when I touch his feet. His little paws are so cute though, and they smell like grass most of the time. I resume scratching his belly, and stare up at the ceiling thinking about today. This is the first minute I've had to relax. This week has been insane, my life is insane, I am nauseated daily by the stress I feel. Suddenly, he stirs awake and places his paw on my open palm. "I love you too, Pep."