Even as I stroke the smooth fur capped scalp of Buddy, as his head sinks in servitude beneath the gentle weight of my hand, even as his eyes recline in glossy ecstasy as if to say you may snap my neck in a twist of your wrist and I shall die by your will a grateful sacrifice, even in the simple petting of a loyal dog I find my own life fails to be so full as that of this mongrel beneath my palm. For my master runs not a finger through my hair.