text: I hate doors. I hate that I can’t open them. What are they hiding? What am I not allowed to see? I can tell the small boy doesn’t like them either. Especially the one in the tall boy’s room. Tall boy hasn’t been in there for a long time. I miss him. He gave me bacon under the table every morning. He gave me good scratches too. That doesn't happen anymore. I get no more scratches and no more bacon. Even the smell of bacon has left the house. The mother stopped making it since the tall boy left. Why? Does she not like bacon? Did she find out that tall boy used to sneak some for me, even though I wasn’t supposed to have it? Maybe making bacon will make the tall boy come back. When he comes back he’ll share his bacon and give scratches and hugs and fill the house with good bacon smells. I can tell that small boy misses him too. Tall boy also shared his bacon with small boy. He gave away so much of his bacon that he barely had any for himself. Yet he didn’t ask for more. He was happy to share. Tall boy always seemed to be happy. When other people were sad, he would give them a long hug; and when they separated, the other person was happy again. Did the tall boy suck the sadness out of the other person? I also have that effect on people. I remember the first time tall boy brought home the girl with long light hair. As soon as she saw me, she pounced on me and gave me lots of hugs and pressed her face into my fur. I licked her face a lot. She seemed to like it. She and tall boy used to lick faces when no one was home. The girl came over every day to see tall boy. She would smile and pet me, and I would wag my tail to show her I liked it. When she left, her and tall boy would always hug each other for a long time. I could tell that being with her made tall boy happy, even though I couldn’t possibly imagine how he could fit more happiness inside himself. But she stopped coming back after a while, and that was the only time I remember tall boy feeling sad. It was horrible. He cried in his room for days. He barely ate, and gave all his bacon to small boy, saving one piece for me. When tall boy handed it down for me to eat, I tried to tell him “No, tall boy. You have it. You should eat it. I know you like it.” I tried everything I could, barking, whimpering, nosing his hand. Anything to help him understand that I didn’t want it. But he never understood. So I took his bacon, hoping that it would make him happy again. That it would make his bright blue eyes and warm smile come back. But it didn’t, and his eyes stayed dull, and his smile gone. He started to drink from brown bottles. It made him sleep and his breath smell foul. It made him fight with his mother and father and made him spend less time with small boy. Only when he took me on walks did he not drink from the bottles. I tried to make those walks as long as possible to keep him away from the evil-smelling drink. I wanted to take those bottles and hide them where he couldn't find them. But he kept them in his closet. Tall boy made sure that I couldn’t get to them by locking the closet door. He made sure that I couldn’t get to the key too; he hid it under a lamp. No one knew except me. But of course, it means nothing to me. I can’t hold or use it. Such an inconvenience! I feel cheated! Why can’t I have the hands to grab things? Why can’t I have a tongue that can do anything but bark or whimper? I could have talked to tall boy to make him understand my thoughts. I could have taken those wretched drinks and gotten rid of them. I could have stopped tall boy from getting into that car. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I can't open car doors. But small boy could’ve. He just didn’t know. Like he doesn't know what’s in the closet that he’s so desperately trying to open. Would it help him to know? I hope so. So I look at small boy, who’s sitting on the bed crying like tall boy once did, and I bark at him. He looks over startled. He wonders why I did that. I knock over the hiding lamp to reveal the key. The lamp smashes on the ground, and small boy yells at me, telling me to stop. He walks over to clean up the mess, and I can tell that small boy saw the key because he lunges towards it and shoves it into the closet handle. The door opens. I see small boy reach in to grab something. I expect to see the bottles. But I don’t. Small boy sits back down on the bed with a book. He opens it and looks at the first page. Suddenly he starts crying. Why? I climb up and there, in the book, I see *him*! I see tall boy in the book! Look! *Look*! My tail wags harder than it ever had. I see *my boy*! He’s here in the book! I lick away small boy’s tears and put my paw on the picture. He puts the book aside and gives me the best hug I had in a while. I let him cry into my fur. “Good boy,” he says between sobs. “Good boy. Good boy”. It’s all right, I tell him. It’s all right. Tall boy is back. Tall boy is smiling now. Tall boy is *happy again*.